Catch My Breath
by MegalegU
Summary: This is a sequel to a previous story. Shawn's supernatural abilities are discovered by an organization that wants to use him for their own personal gain – by any means necessary. Shawn struggles to stay sane amid the torture techniques inflicted on him while his father Henry must find a way to make it to his son and rescue him from captivity – by any means necessary.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's note: AHHH! So I FINALLY am posting the sequel to 'Can't Tell You Where I'll Be' (which is this story, haha). You don't technically have to read it to like this story but it would make more sense. I've already finished this story and I will post it in three chapters (this being part one). This story took forever and I'm excited. Okay, and if you want to know what CTYWIB is: Shawn gets struck by lightning and gets super powers. That's basically it. Thanks as always to** Mrs-N-Uzuamki **, who supports my ideas and is my BFF basically** **\- Meg**

* * *

Run.

Pound the pavement.

Beat the ground with your sneakers.

Turn a corner.

Look behind you, always look behind you.

Pause. Take a breath.

Continue to run.

Climb a fence.

Fall on the ground.

Get back up.

Sprint the last few feet to your apartment.

Wrench the door open.

Climb the staircase.

Flatten yourself against the wall at the slightest noise.

Only a next-door neighbor, Mrs. Gunderson, orthopedic-soled shoes clunking on the floor.

Jog to your door. Slam it behind you. Breathe.

Breathe until you have enough energy.

Fall into the kitchen. Whip open the refrigerator. Let the cool air spill over you.

This is your ritual.

Every day, you, Shawn Spencer, live in fear.

You aren't sure _what_ or _who_ you are scared of, only the _why_ of it, you are certain.

You are essentially being hunted.

You are being hunted because you are a psychic.

* * *

Shawn Spencer knows that the irony is not lost on him.

He had spent six years traipsing around Santa Barbara, selling the SBPD and others on the lie that he was, yes, psychic. He popped in and out of crime scenes for years, throwing his body onto nearby surfaces and proclaiming 'the spirits' were plying him with information about the city's latest criminals.

Then he got struck by lightning. And then he actually became psychic.

Now he spends his days hiding in the cracks and corners of New York City. It's an area big enough to get lost in which is exactly what Shawn intends to do.

Shawn had had to leave Santa Barbara because soon after the discovery of his newfound psychic abilities, mysterious…people…started to appear in his line of sight. He would go to a coffee shop and crouch in front of the glass pastry case and see the reflection of someone hovering at his shoulder. Crossing a street, a shadow would loom overhead. It got to a point where he couldn't deny it anymore: he was being watched.

Someone must have picked up on the fact that Shawn had never actually been psychic all those years because if they _had_ assumed that, he would have had these problems far earlier. It was only months after the discovery of his new abilities that the shadows were following him.

Of course, there were other details in the whole story. The psychic ability hadn't presented itself for a long time until after _other_ odd things occurred, including him getting shot and then healing instantaneously, coughing out the bullet into his palm.

New York City wasn't symbolic of anything for Shawn and there were no comforting qualities he sought for there. When he walked up to the ticket counter at the airport, it was the first city that rolled off his tongue like something sweet.

Once in the city, he located a cramped apartment on the outskirts of Brooklyn and paid off the rent with cash he had been storing in an old cereal box on top of the fridge in the Psych office. He spent weeks hovering around the inner makings of the city, sliding in and out of bookstores and bakeries, never staying in an area long enough to be recognized or identified.

Gus and his father plagued him with phone calls, peppering his days with urgent voice mails and text messages, e-mails. His phone vibrated and pinged so often that he eventually switched it off and subsequently dropped it in a river, disappointed to be throwing up a wall between that life and this one. He had to do it, of course but it didn't stop it from being a pang in his chest or his stomach, a memory with a switch.

Moving to a bigger city helped Shawn blend in…for a little while. Weeks into his stay, he went to a no-name coffee shop and at the front of the line, felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up.

When Shawn had gotten struck by lightning, his body had responded in a peculiar way. He had been able to see and hear from far distances, jump high, heal fast and had abnormal strength. Those abilities had dissipated, making way for the psychic ability that hadn't yet wavered. However, some of the powers had harbored somewhere in his body, flaring up at odd intervals.

It was one of those times when Shawn felt the presence in the coffee shop. He might not have been able to pick the man out in a crowd but being that he and the stranger were some of the only people in the place; he could tell right away what this man was after.

To be perfectly honest, Shawn wasn't sure _what_ 'they' were after. He had seen enough movies to have a general assumption but it wasn't as if he wanted to explore that any further. All he knew was that he felt a presence that hadn't been there before, right after the discovery of his psychic abilities.

Thankfully, the run-ins with these mysterious men in the city were sparse. Shawn's psychic abilities extended to hearing voices before they spoke, seeing actions before they were enacted and, at the foreboding times, talking with those who were already dead.

Most times, Shawn would not sleep as well as he used to. He would cocoon himself in cotton sheets until his limbs were immobile and lay awake, blinking. He began to dream less and less now, because when he slept, he saw visions. More often than not, they were ordinary things, simple little details: a pretzel cart guy stubbing his toe on a sewer grate, Shawn's neighbor knocking on his door to request an egg or even things of Shawn himself, unearthing an empty shampoo bottle in the shower.

His 'visions' are not nearly as elaborate as he previously claimed them to be. Sometimes, though, he would shut his eyes and a kaleidoscope of events would splay across them. He would wake up, panting and throw the sheets aside.

He would get flashes of men looming over him, cold metal and rattling noises. It never made sense to him but often he would see one of the men, jogging after him in a bookstore or on the sidewalk. He would shelter himself that day from society, certain that if he avoided the situation, it would never come to fruition.

It usually never did but…today is not one of those days.

* * *

Shawn decides to go to the library today because quite honestly, he doesn't have a TV in his new apartment yet and can't think of much else to do. He sifts through History and Autobiographies, Fiction and Adventure, finally succumbing to Science Fiction, which was the only genre of novel he had ever read as a child.

At a Maplewood table, he settles down with a dog-eared paperback and then surreptitiously glances around himself: one woman, browsing through the Mysteries section, a man at the front desk, chatting amicably with the older librarian and a mid-twenties man flanking Shawn's right, flicking through a newspaper with disgust and swigging an espresso.

Shawn inwardly sighs with relief. He has learned to appreciate when a space is sparsely occupied. A surplus of people contained the ability to camouflage and go undetected. Shawn is talented at picking out the minor details and exposing the necessary, but in a place like New York City, there sometimes are too many people for Shawn to really pay attention to.

He thumbs through the novel he chose, not exactly reading, but glancing at the words. He thinks that he needs to get a job. It doesn't have to be under the table and it wouldn't be possible, anyway. Jobs that require no ID or social security number only exist in movies.

Finally, he manages to read one page of the book and then two. Reading has always been a laborious project for Shawn, even in childhood. It is work that can be extended to things of far heavier interest, like stealing his father's car, for instance. At the memory, Shawn's smirk droops. He thinks of Henry and his disapproving gaze. Even though he and his father had been like fire and gasoline, like one of them was a match waiting to get a drop on the other, he still felt a certain longing for him. He can't go back, though. Not yet.

It is when Shawn scoots back from the table to exchange his current book for a different one or perhaps to get lunch, maybe, that it happens. He is standing, mid-thought, when a tall, Caucasian man with two day's growth of beard and virtually hairless head slips out of the Young Adult section, eyes directly on Shawn. The first thought Shawn has is, _oh, he looks like Jason Statham_ and the second, of course, is: _run_.

Admittedly, Shawn hadn't been in the best shape in Santa Barbara. In the beginning, when he and Gus had first established Psych, he'd been lithe and limber, mostly due to malnourishment. He ate, but only when necessary or sometimes not even then. Once money came in from various cases and consultations, he ate all the time, even when he wasn't particularly hungry, just because he could. Now, however, exercise is a necessity. Running is something he rises every morning to do and his long and lithe body has slowly re-emerged.

So now, when Shawn has to run away from something or some _one_ , he can, very efficiently. He does so now, nearly knocking over his chair and dropping his book onto the floor. He breaks through the double-doored entrance and pounds his way onto the sidewalk, bypassing a woman hawking fake Rolex watches. He looks behind him briefly, which is a mistake, but he does it anyway. The Jason Statham look-alike is gaining on him, shoving aside the knockoff Rolex vendor who tries to jump for his attention by thrusting a watch in his face. Shawn loses time by looking back but gains it again when two men carrying a large mattress across an intersection obstruct the look-alike from getting any closer to Shawn.

Shawn nearly whoops in delight but doesn't stop running, continuing on, passing between various types of people: businessmen on Bluetooth headsets, tourists in oversized 'I HEART NY' t-shirts and women in high heels so sharp they can cut ice. He can hear the startled cries and outraged shouts of various citizens as the look-alike storms after Shawn, shoving aside people with unabashed enthusiasm. He is even closer to Shawn, close enough to grab onto the collar of his shirt but Shawn ducks at the last second, skirting around an elderly couple posing for a caricature artist in front of an advertisement for Ray's Pizza.

Comically, Shawn realizes his mistake when he runs into a loading dock for a pharmacy. He is at a dead end and he glares at the red brick building in front of him, foreboding with darkened windows. "Damn it," he whispers. He swivels around, feeling the look-alike and faces him with a blank expression. If he has to do this, he won't give the man the satisfaction of showing him fear.

Silence sits between them and blankets the surrounding space. Finally, Shawn can't bear it any longer and he blurts, "What do you want?"

The look-alike doesn't say anything for a long moment, leaving Shawn to wonder if he should make a break for it. Finally, the man says, "I want to help you."

Shawn cocks his head, certain he has heard wrong. "You want to… _what_?"

"Help," Not-really-Jason-Statham says slowly.

Shawn doesn't know how to respond to this. "Uh…"

"You're being followed," the other man says.

"By you!" Shawn exclaims, arm thrusting out in agitation.

Not-really-Jason-Statham shakes his head. "It is not me that you should worry about," he says solemnly and Shawn feels something within him tighten and constrict.

"What is that supposed to mean?" he demands, unable to stop himself. Asking the Big Questions, especially with people like this, usually never work out. He's spoken with enough criminals and convicts to know that information comes out in trickles, not in waves.

The look-alike stares at him and then steps away, making as if to run away.

"Wait," Shawn pleads.

"I'm not the one you're supposed to be running away from," the look-alike continues. "I can't even pose a threat."

Shawn's eyebrow arches, questioning the statement.

The Jason Statham look-alike tilts his head at Shawn and slowly, he shimmers away, body disappearing in a hazy glow that makes Shawn shield his eyes.

"What," Shawn says, "the hell." So Jason Statham was _not_ in fact Jason Statham or a guy that liked to dress up as him. He is a spirit. Shawn has encountered a few spirits since his arrival to NYC and it's extremely unsettling. He used to lament about his conversations with 'the spirits' when he worked for the SBPD, about the agony and the misery but never had thought those things would actually be true.

Once Jason Statham is gone, Shawn feels unbelievably cold. This happens when he talks with the spirits, as if they leave a residual emptiness behind. He swivels around, hoping not to see anyone walking by and thankfully, there is no one. He starts walking forward, not intent on going anywhere but desperately wanting to stave off the impending sorrow, something that never fails to make him feel as if he is hollow.

So, Shawn figures, sidestepping a woman carrying a garbage bag overflowing with Beanie Babies, Jason Statham is a spirit. This means, obviously, that he never _crossed over_ , as they say in _Ghost Whisperer_. This also means that Jason Statham relies on _Shawn_ to help him. He had claimed to want to help Shawn but with what? Does he know about the men that have been following him?

Exhausted, Shawn slips into a nearby Starbucks, not vying for a caffeine fix but mainly just desperate for a public area, where no one can approach him without making a scene. He makes his order and then settles into a table, slipping on a pair of wire-rimmed glasses. Shawn had had the ability to see from extremely far distances but now it has waned significantly – so much so, that now and again he needs to use glasses to see properly. He spreads open a newspaper and grabs his coffee when it's called.

The spirit must have come to him about the situation he is currently in. If Shawn has to guess, he can assume that Jason Statham had some interaction with one of the men and then something horrible happened. At the thought, Shawn feels a knot in his stomach. He has never actually spoken to the men that follow him like shadows; he has never felt the inclination to ask, 'Oh, hey, did you want to murder me or take me out to dinner? Because I happen to know a great restaurant called Red Robin!'

He's never been good at _summoning_ spirits – that's for the necromancers and Shawn isn't even sure that they exist. But the curiosity about the spirit that had loomed over him at the library is chipping away at his resolve. He has to find a way to contact him. Shawn knocks back the rest of his coffee and bolts out of the space, determined this time to chase after someone, instead of always being the one that is chased.

* * *

Shawn never said goodbye to anyone when he left Santa Barbara. He waved at Juliet when he drove by her in the SPBD parking lot but that doesn't really count, as he had told her he was making a quick smoothie run and would be back in twenty minutes.

He never even hinted to Gus that he was on his way out. He hopes that Gus can find some way to understand or maybe pick up the subtle clues that Shawn had spread along the way to New York. He'd had to ditch his Norton (he kept it safely ensconced in the Psych office, knowing Gus will take care of it) because he wanted to be as inconspicuous as possible.

Though Shawn had many ties in Santa Barbara, he feels guiltiest about never saying goodbye to his father. He had tried to, days before his departure; he'd been standing in his father's kitchen, about to eat hamburgers and onion rings, a classic Spencer meal. Shawn had opened his mouth, words threatening to spill over and pool around him like a river, but his mouth felt stopped up with cotton, his tongue weighed down by all that he had to say. He'd ended up making some cutting remark about the feminine-smelling hand soap in the bathroom and Henry had said something about Shawn not even owning hand soap at his own place, which had ultimately been true.

Though Henry and Shawn had always been opposing forces, their relationship had mended somewhat when Shawn was five years into his psychic detective work. He and Henry had found a way to work beside each other, instead of simply around each other. Shawn fears that his abrupt absence will send some signal to Henry that he had never meant any of it all and Santa Barbara had just been another pit stop to him. It hadn't been but Shawn can't go back and tell him now. He knows how these things work. The men will demand Shawn's energy, the extent of his abilities and his determination. They'll run him dry like a sponge and still want more. Then when he will try to squirm away, slip through the fissures and disappear, they'll go at the only thing he has: his family.

The thought of Henry or Gus or even Juliet suffering due to his own misfortunate is something he will never let happen. His mother suffered once from the trappings of his job and it had set something aflame in Shawn, a burning desire to not simply protect everyone, but shield them if he must, stand in the way of fate and disaster. If he had told Henry or Gus or yes, Juliet, about all that was happening, they would want to call in the cavalry and keep him sequestered in some safe house and it would never work. Shawn can feel that truth weighing down his stomach like a brick.

So he had had to leave. He'd left little clues in the corners that he could: a pineapple-patterned washcloth tucked in Henry's linen closet, all of Lassiter's favorite gum from his desk drawer chewed up and artfully splayed out on construction paper spelling 'LASSIE' and of course, the most damning, a photo Shawn had taken, meant to look like a 'selfie' of him in front of a Dippin' Dots ice cream cart in downtown Santa Barbara but actually captured one of the mysterious men that followed him, looking almost directly at the photo lens. That, Shawn had slipped inside a box of frozen waffles in the Psych office freezer. It was a long shot, but it was as close as Shawn could get to telling Gus about what was going on.

Henry and Gus had known about the mysterious abilities that Shawn had been dealing with – they knew that his vision and hearing suddenly grew impeccable and his strength increased tenfold. They had both watched when he coughed a bullet out of his mouth that had previously been lodged in his chest. They had even both accompanied him to Peter, a doctor that Shawn had met and offered to help with his situation. He had run every test he could think of and Shawn was seemingly fine. Then, however, after the situation with the robbery ring, Shawn's abilities seemed to lessen significantly. Peter had surmised that it was Shawn's body simply running out of the energy that had been zapped into him when he'd gotten struck by lightning. Shawn had been disappointed but only weeks later discovered a new ability: clairvoyance.

So Henry and Gus had known about his abilities and it would have been just as easy to say, 'Oh, hey, I just realized I'm psychic, actually' and then they would of course encourage him to go back to Peter and then…and then what, though? The men still would have come and he still would have been followed except that too many people would have been tied in as well, folding into the story in ways he didn't want. In the end, he never told anyone because, even now, he still isn't sure if he even really _is_ psychic and if he is, he wants it to be his own secret.

He intends to go back to Santa Barbara. It may be years from now, but he'll go. That seems to be one of the only things he is sure of anymore.

* * *

The best way to contact a spirit is probably not standing in an alleyway, hollering, "HEY! Hello? Are you still there?" This is of course New York City, however, and a strange man standing around yelling at no one in particular is not an odd sight. People shuffle by wordlessly while Shawn attempts to resurrect a spirit that spoke to him three days ago. Spirits are always so damn vague, Shawn thinks bitterly. If he said anything of substance, maybe Shawn wouldn't be trying to get answers out of him in broad daylight, in the middle of a loading dock for a pharmacy.

The thing is, he _is_ this desperate. He has no idea how to summon spirits and it isn't like he knows anyone who does. Shawn isn't the type of man to walk into an occult shop and ask a Wiccan for advice.

Shawn stares at the exposed brick of the building, wondering if he should retrace his steps and perhaps go back to the library where the spirit had been in the first place. Maybe the spirit was some kind of literary scholar and liked to read in between thinking about life and, well, death.

Just as he is about to head in the direction of the library, Jason Statham's voice floats in the space between them. "I only go there on Wednesdays," he says, making Shawn's shoulders hunch up to his ears in fear. He turns around and sees Jason Statham lounging on the loading dock, arms crossed behind his head like he'd been lying there the entire time.

Shawn doesn't say anything and Jason Statham laughs heartily before standing up. "Christ, you're no fun," he complains. "You know, I've seen you running around here the past few days trying to get a hold on me."

"And you never thought to just show up?" Shawn can't help but be annoyed. This spirit is a wise-ass. It reminds him of his days with the SBPD.

Jason Statham shrugs. "It was fun to watch you sweat."

Shawn agitatedly rubs a hand over his forehead. "Oh, thanks," he mutters dryly.

"Anyway," Jason Statham says. "I figured you'd want my advice because I've been noticing the men are around again."

"The men?" Shawn questions. "The ones that have been following me?"

Jason nods his head. "They're onto you; buddy and you're not all that good at hiding."

"I resent that," Shawn says. "I was raised by one of the best detectives I know." At this, he fights back a familiar tug in his throat.

"You must not know many detectives," Jason Statham walks closer to Shawn and crosses his arms. "Listen, you should probably go."

"I just got here!"

"No," Jason rolls his eyes. "Go out of New York. Go somewhere else."

"I came to New York to get away from where I was last," Shawn explains.

Jason shrugs. "Then move again. I lived in a few places before I had ended up here."

Shawn's lip twitches. He has to ask. "What happened to you?"

Jason's mouth sets in a firm line. "This isn't about me."

"It most certainly is," Shawn argues. "You chased me all the way down here the other day, only to spew some vague bullshit my way. I ran away from everything I had, to this place and I want to know _what the fuck is going on_!"

The outburst unsettles Jason. He steps back, building distance between himself and Shawn. "I can tell you," he says slowly. "But I'm still trying to make sense of it myself."

Shawn nods his assent.

"I was being followed, too," Jason begins, "but I wasn't like you. I mean, I was, but I wasn't psychic." He shoots his head out toward the loading dock and the various trash – soda cans and chip bags, etc – lift up and suspend into the air, hovering ten feet above the ground. He swings his arm down and the trash crashes onto the concrete.

Shawn opens his mouth and then closes it, surprised at what he saw. He hadn't thought there wasn't anyone else like him except that…he kind of _had_. He had been a victim of circumstance; he had gotten struck by lightning and then developed an entirely different life for himself. No one else seemed to have that story. He had to have been the only one. But he wasn't. Jealousy and fascination cross within him.

"I was an insurance salesman in Chicago," Statham says. "I was someone nobody paid much attention to, you know? That was how I knew I was being followed."

Shawn has a sinking feeling he knows where this is going.

"I made sure never to do any…" he waves his hand around, indicating his display of telekinetic abilities. "In public or even at home. My wife, she had no idea and I was afraid that if I told her she would run away screaming."

Shawn can empathize.

"So I went to work one day and this huge, hulking guy with like The Rock kind of muscles, he steps in front of me and asks, 'are you Wyatt Henderson?' and of course I say yes, because, I mean, I was."

Shawn flinches at the use of the past tense.

"Then he lunges at me, I mean really fucking _goes_ for it. He gets ahold of my shirt collar and all I'm thinking is, this is it, you know? Here I die, right in front of the office, like I always wanted." Wyatt lets out a rueful laugh. "Somehow, I managed to slip out of his grasp. I got away. Barely." His eyes flit up to meet Shawn's. "And I kept getting away. Barely. From city to city, state to state. Until I got to New York."

Wyatt doesn't say anything and Shawn has to ask, "What happened when you got to New York?"

Wyatt shook his head. "You should get out of here, Shawn."

Shawn crosses his arms. "You know, it's funny hearing that coming from a man who, a few days earlier, told me that you 'didn't pose a threat'."

Wyatt clenches his jaw. "I am not threatening you. I'm _warning_ you. Shawn, what other proof do you need that you can't stay in one place for this long?" his arms splay out, presenting himself.

Shawn hesitates. "Listen, I just…I just don't know what to believe anymore."

"Believe me," Wyatt insists, gesturing to himself. "Shouldn't I be enough proof for you? I'm fucking _dead_ , Shawn, and you will be too, if you don't do something."

Shawn's teeth grind together in irritation. This is something that always annoys him about the spirits. "How is running away _doing something_? If I keep it up, I'll never stop."

Wyatt levels Shawn with a gaze that makes his stomach churn. "It's never going to stop…is it?" he asks wearily.

Wyatt shakes his head.

Shawn walks away wordlessly, not looking back at Wyatt, who opens his mouth, closes it and then finally evaporates away, smoke curling around the space he'd occupied.

* * *

Shawn googles crime rates in various cities for a baseline. Chicago isn't a great place – though he'd love to go. He has a strange passion for large cities – the lights and the bustle, the activities available in any space seem to entice him more than anything else.

He stays up well into the night researching a new city. He's not even sure he will go – he knows Wyatt is right; he can't stay in the city forever. He doesn't even want to go anywhere, he wants to be back in Santa Barbara, even wants his dad to kick his ass, bitch him out for leaving with no goodbye. It's not in the cards, it's unrealistic to want things like this, but Shawn wants it all the same.

Shawn thinks maybe Virginia will be a fresh start. He prints out a few ideas at a nearby shop and looks at the papers in his hands. More blueprints for more plans. Sighing, he opens the door of the printing shop and comes face to face with one of the men that has been following him since Santa Barbara.

Fuck.

"You got that right," the man opposite him says, Shawn not having realized he'd spoken aloud. The man delivers a sharp punch to his cheek and he wavers, grappling to hold onto something but the man kicks him in the gut and he wheezes, collapsing onto the pavement.

"Take him," the man says to someone from a few feet away.

Shawn scrambles backwards, hands scraping over rocks and rubble on the ground. He looks frantically around him, but the area's deserted; it's four-thirty in the morning. He tries his damndest to summon any of the abilities he used to possess like oxygen but nothing is happening. He shuts his eyes, not wanting to see it end this way.

At that moment, garbage cans fall over inexplicably and a street light crashes down nearby the men, sparks shooting off the pavement. One man is upended, his legs splayed out in front of him. He shouts, desperately trying to land back on the ground, but he twists higher and higher into the air.

"What are you doing!" one of the men aims a gun at Shawn. "Stop it!"

Shawn holds up his hands, as if to say that it is not his fault but then Wyatt materializes in front of him. "You get into these messes a lot, don't you?" he asks. He spins around before Shawn can respond to fight off the other man holding the gun. He roughly elbows him in the chest and slams a fist under his chin. Wyatt snatches the gun and fires a bullet straight up.

Shawn flinches from the noise but watches in amusement as the man spinning in the air gets disoriented and eventually drops onto the pavement. The other eventually sprints down the road, looking back in terror at Shawn.

Wyatt nudges at Shawn. "Hey, this is the part where we run."

So they do.

* * *

Wyatt spends ten minutes trying to convince Shawn not to go to Chicago in the line at Shake Shack. It definitely looks odd, considering Shawn doesn't appear to be talking to anyone, but to a New Yorker, he is just another oddball.

"Maybe I was wrong before," Wyatt says, jumping in front of Shawn before he can move ahead in the long line. "You probably shouldn't go."

Shawn moves ahead. "I'm not sure."

"You almost died," Wyatt protests.

Shawn shrugs. "But I didn't." He is, of course lying. He doesn't talk much to others anymore. As soon as Wyatt had stepped in, he had vowed not to leave the city, at least not for a few days. It's always fun to sharpen his deceptive skills, however.

"Shawn," Wyatt jumps at him again, as if he is trying to shake some sense into him.

Shawn approaches the order window and lists off what he wants. He turns to Wyatt and asks, "You need anything?"

Wyatt rolls his eyes. "So you're just going to ignore me, is that it?"

Shawn moves aside with his order receipt and looks Wyatt in the eyes. "Calm down," he says casually. "Of course I'm staying."

Wyatt's shoulders slump in relief.

"At least for a few days," Shawn amends.

Wyatt's shoulders hunch back up to meet his ears.

Shawn shrugs off his friend's concern. "Maybe if you actually told me what happened to you, I would be a little more concerned."

Wyatt's expression darkens. "I'm not talking about that."

"Then I guess I don't know what to tell you," Shawn accepts his food order and makes his way down the street, planning on walking the sixty or so blocks back to his apartment. He stops at a nearby stand and purchases a baseball cap and pulls his reading glasses out of his shirt pocket. If anybody is around, looking for him, at least he will look like a slight variation of himself.

"You can't expect me to tell you that," Wyatt huffs, trying to keep up with Shawn's hurried gait. At an intersection, he looks longingly at the French fries in Shawn's paper bag. Being a spirit has its pitfalls.

Shawn pivots to face him. "And why not?"

At first, Wyatt looks angry – his chest is rising and falling and his hands are clenches into tight fists. Then, he seems to falter. "Because…because I can barely remember it myself."

Shawn stops in his tracks, slamming into a man wearing a plastic coat and gold cowboy boots. "You mean you don't remember?"

Wyatt shakes his head. "I mean, a little bit. I think. But…a lot of it is just, not there, in a way? Some of it I know for sure happened and some of it I can't tell."

Shawn resists the urge to pull a French fry out of the bag he has in his hands. Speaking with spirits always works up his appetite. "I feel like I should be more concerned," he finally admits. "The people following me should always have an idea of where I am. And yet, here I am, out in the open." He takes out a fry and chews thoughtfully. "Kind of cavalier, isn't it?"

Wyatt cocks his head thoughtfully. "Yes and no," he finally says. "You picked a good place to be. There's a lot of area to cover in the city."

"Still," Shawn turns a corner and lifts his burger out of the paper bag. "I think I should consider where to go next." He turns to hear Wyatt's opinion but the spirit looks upset.

"What?" Shawn asks, wanting to stop but not able to due to the cluster of native New Yorkers pressing in on them from all sides.

Wyatt keeps his eyes straight ahead and then finally says, "See you around, Shawn," before shimmering out of sight.

"Hey!" Shawn shouts. "What the hell?"

The psychic walks home, confused and irritated. It's difficult to pick up on who Wyatt really is and Shawn is finding it even more difficult due to the area he is in. He moved to NYC for anonymity and he received it in spades. But being camouflaged in a sea of people has its downside: he feels like he can't see, hear or have visions with all of the voices colliding around him. Wyatt had wanted him to go before for his protection and maybe he should have.

He gets to his cramped apartment in Williamsburg and watches _Judge Judy_ for three hours in shell-shocked silence.

On the way home, it hits him that he'd almost been captured today. He wasn't sure what would have happened to him, but due to Wyatt's spirit floating around, he's going to surmise it wouldn't have been good. Somehow, he had managed to push that fear and shock away for a few hours. Once the realization arrives to him, he does nothing but sits in front of the TV and possessively keeps his eyes on the door to his apartment. Every squeak of the movements of the tenants above him has him jumping until his eyes droop and he falls asleep into a bag of donut holes.

* * *

Shawn jolts awake at 5:30AM, his stomach roiling. He makes a cup of instant coffee and then heads outside to the main lobby. He fumbles in his hunter-green jacket and produces a pack of Camel cigarettes. Shawn doesn't smoke – or at least, not anymore. He certainly partook in the activity in high school, when smoking in the bathrooms was considered a hobby. He hasn't since then but he bought the pack a few months before he'd left Santa Barbara. Shawn had thought they might come in handy.

He quickly flicks the pink Bic lighter, which then emits the flame. He sucks in a deep breath and thinks of Gus, who had once found the lighter laying around the Psych office. He'd questioned Shawn but the psychic had only said he had it 'for reasons.'

Shawn is only outside for a few minutes before Wyatt suddenly jumps in his line of shit.

" _Shit_!" Shawn shouts, dropping his cigarette in surprise.

"You smoke?" Wyatt seems disappointed. "Are you trying to kill yourself?" he runs a hand over his neck in annoyance.

Shawn flicks the cigarette into a nearby garbage can and lights up another. He blows the smoke in Wyatt's face, smirking.

"Oh, that's nice," Wyatt huffs, "treat the man who saved your life this way, I see how it is."

At the mention, Shawn's expression darkens. The cigarette smolders between his fingers, untouched for several moments. Finally, he takes two quick drags off of it before stomping that out with his loafer. "I'm just thinking of what to do," Shawn admits. "Obviously what I had planned before is out of the question."

Wyatt raises an eyebrow, as if asking Shawn to elaborate.

"I dropped my papers on the ground when the two guys showed up," Shawn explains. "One of them had a map to Virginia. They're going to suspect that's where I'm headed."

Wyatt shifts his weight from foot to foot and then finally blurts, "I don't think you should go."

Shawn stops staring at a beer bottle cap on the ground and looks up. "Why did you change your mind?" he asks. Wyatt had been insistent that he leave before and suddenly leaving was the worst thing he could do?

"Ugh," Wyatt groans. "Don't make me say it, Shawn."

Slowly, a grin emerges on Shawn's face. "Wait," he begins, enjoying the moment. "Don't tell me…"

"Shawn!" Wyatt warns, hands flying to cover his ears.

"You want me around!" Shawn says gleefully. "You _like_ me, don't you, Wyatt?"

Wyatt levels Shawn with a stern glare. "Stop."

Shawn can't stop grinning as he walks back into his apartment, Wyatt on his heels. "What are you doing up so early?" Wyatt demands.

"Can't sleep," Shawn heads for the staircase, suddenly remembering the lone breakfast burrito he still has in his freezer.

Wyatt slides in front of him before he ascends the staircase. "Were you going to leave without telling me?"

Shawn steps around Wyatt. "I would have said goodbye."

Wyatt follows him up the stairs. "So you're still leaving?"

Shawn opens the door to his apartment. "I don't know." He sits down at his ramshackle kitchen table and puts his feet up. "It doesn't matter where I am; eventually I'll run out of money."

Wyatt sits down next to him. "Oh."

"Yep," Shawn says, "and I don't know about you, but I don't know of a place that would hire a runaway psychic with no personal identification or permanent address."

"You can do freelance work," Wyatt suggests. "Are you a good writer?"

Shawn's expression distorts, like he has sucked on a lemon. "Uh, no." Suddenly, he sits up straighter in his chair. "I could do what I did before…and who knows…maybe…"

Wyatt raises his eyebrows. "What?"

"Before I worked as a psychic for the SBPD, I called in hints about crimes to the hotline. I could usually tell what outcome a crime would have by looking at expressions or what their voices sounded like, basically." Shawn finds himself getting animated. "I made enough to get by."

Wyatt scratches at his ear. "Do you think that's a good idea? Won't that make you stand out?"

Shawn shrugs. "I'll call from a pay phone."

"I don't know…" Wyatt says uneasily. "You had a close call yesterday. Why would you want to risk that again?"

"They're going to tap public phones?" Shawn asks. "All public phones?"

Wyatt shrugs. "They always knew where I was."

Shawn shudders involuntarily.

"See?" Wyatt points at him. "You're already scared."

"Wyatt," Shawn says teasingly. "Are you worried about me?"

Wyatt huffs out a sigh and then shimmers out of view.

"Aw, come on!" Shawn complains.

Wyatt jumps back in his line of sight and crosses his arms. "You gotta stop," he says.

Shawn walks over to the television and flicks it on. "All I have to do is watch some news reports, read the guilt off of the people interviewed and call in the hints." He plops down on the couch and unearths a stale Pop-Tart from behind a cushion. "Ugh," he sniffs. "Blueberry." He shoves the entire thing in his mouth.

Wyatt goes to sit next to him. "Yeah, this won't end poorly at all."

Shawn winks. "It never does."

* * *

So, Shawn goes along with his plan. He watches the news for six hours as Wyatt appears and disappears in various spots in his apartment.

"Don't you have anything to do?" Shawn asks in irritation as Wyatt blocks the television screen.

"In case you haven't forgotten," Wyatt says, obnoxiously moving his arms up and down to block Shawn's view, "I'm dead, so no."

"Well," Shawn reaches for his coat. "I saw something a couple minutes back. I called it in while you were messing around in my bathroom. What were you doing, anyway?"

Wyatt hides his guilty expression. "Nothing."

"Sure," Shawn reaches for his keys and opens the door. "Come on, we have to go bust a guy for selling drugs. He has 'no idea' how they got dropped on his doorstep." Shawn rolls his eyes.

Wyatt smirks. "How do you even know how to do this shit?"

Shawn pauses at the threshold of the door. "I had a good teacher," he says faintly.

Wyatt seems to recognize the expression Shawn has and he steps out ahead of Shawn, looking solemn. "C'mon," he finally says. "Let's go."

* * *

As Wyatt suspected, everything goes to shit.

But first:

Shawn makes it to the nearby prescient. Wyatt follows him up the steps and through the doors and Shawn stops him suddenly. "Wait, you can't go with me," he says.

Wyatt raises an eyebrow.

"OH, right," Shawn laughs. He almost forgot that one else could see the man.

So Shawn goes inside, tells his name, waits to be called, delivers the information and receives the check. The amount of money is barely enough to cover the cost of groceries, but Shawn figures if done a few times, eventually it will pay for rent.

Shawn and Wyatt walk out of the prescient, Wyatt running at Shawn's heels like an excitable puppy. "I can't believe it's that easy," he exclaims. "How do they even know to trust you? Why do you get paid? Where are we going?"

Shawn groans in frustration and Wyatt grins. He had to get him back for Shawn teasing him this morning about being concerned.

"I will answer your questions when we make it to IHOP," Shawn says, stepping around a man selling illegally-downloaded DVDs on a card table.

"Ugh, I hate pancakes," Wyatt complains as they take a shortcut through an alleyway between a drugstore and a used clothing store.

Suddenly, Shawn stops in his tracks. " _Shit_ ," he whispers.

Wyatt looks up and sees one of the men they had encountered the previous day. He is standing, arms crossed, looking directly at Shawn.

"Shawn," Wyatt says urgently, "let's _go_!" they turn around and the other man is blocking their way.

"Don't worry," Wyatt says, rolling up his sleeves. "I can help."

"Probably gonna need it," Shawn mumbles.

Right then, a third man steps into view, taller and more angry-looking than the other two. He leers at Shawn and the psychic turns to face his friend but he suddenly isn't there.

"Wyatt!" Shawn hisses.

One of the men steps forward and grabs Shawn by the shirt collar.

"Alright, c'mon guys, do we really have to…" Shawn's voice trails off when he realizes the man is holding up a syringe.

Fuck. Shawn scrambles to escape, throwing himself backwards onto the concrete. "Wyatt!" he shouts again. Nothing. He starts running, despite the other man standing at the end of the path, blocking his way. He knocks over a row of garbage cans but it does nothing to faze the two men sprinting after him.

Shawn's shoulder gets jerked back and he fights the strong grip. "It would be really cool if you could help me out, Wyatt," he shouts. In a fit of desperation, Shawn attempts to channel one of his abilities, perhaps strength or agility or _anything_. Unfortunately, Shawn feels helpless, even more so than he had the previous day.

The man gripping the syringe pushes him back and Shawn slams into the exposed brick siding of the building. "C'mon, man," Shawn hisses, attempting to wriggle his way out of the grip of the other man, who is now holding both of his shoulders.

"Alright, that's it," Shawn warns the two men, who look at him perplexed. Shawn opens his mouth and lets out a loud scream. "HELP, SOMEBODY!"

"Shit, shut him up," the man at the end of the path shouts over to them.

The man not gripping Shawn yanks his shirt sleeve back, the syringe getting dangerously close to his skin.

"God _damn_ it, what do you _want_ from me?" Shawn shouts. He thinks himself lame for doing it, but he delivers a kick to the other man's groin. He drops onto the ground and Shawn inches his way to the right, attempting to get himself away from the needle. The man from the end of the path runs up to the one on the ground. "Finish it," he shouts.

The man grabs at Shawn's hair and Shawn hisses, stumbling and falling onto the ground. He rolls his body sideways, escaping from under the man in his crouched position. He is about to get up off his knees and run to the other end when the man runs after him and tackles him.

Shawn lands on the ground and huffs out a breath. The other man quickly sits on top of him and while Shawn wildly attempts to dislodge himself from the position, the man injects the contents of the syringe into Shawn's arm. Shawn's other arm slowly stops swinging frantically. His body relaxes into the pavement. Eyes wide, he mutters, "Fucking Wyatt," before finally passing out.


	2. Chapter 2

**Thanks to all the readers! This is part 2!**

* * *

The first thing Shawn notices is that everything is like his visions. The darkness, the looming faces and the chains, holding back his hands and leaving him completely helpless on a…bed?

He looks around wildly. He is in a mostly bare room – there is a toilet and sink in the corner and the bed he is on. There is a long, skinny door with no handle. A window, out of which he can see other doors. The only light comes from something small and fluorescent hanging above him.

"Shit," Shawn mumbles to himself, testing the give of the chains holding back his hands. His legs are free and he can sit up comfortably, which he does. "They couldn't even leave me some magazines?" Shawn asks no one in particular. He has a feeling he'll be here for a while – the least they could do was give him something to occupy himself with.

"I'm sorry, we don't have any magazines. We could probably wheel you in a TV, though."

Shawn jolts upright, looking around himself.

The door opens and in walks the man that had injected him with whatever had been in the syringe. "Hello, Shawn," the man says, lips pulling back in a smile, revealing perfect, white teeth. He almost looks a little like Tom Cruise, which is freaking Shawn out more than anything else.

"Why am I here?" Shawn immediately demands. No use beating around the bush.

Tom Cruise crosses in arms and keeps grinning at the psychic. "I'm sure you know why."

Shawn huffs out an exasperated sigh. "I really don't."

"Oh, that's right," Tom Cruise waves in the other man that had cornered Shawn in the alleyway. "This is Jackson. He has quite the uncanny ability. Don't you?"

The man, Jackson, looks blankly into Shawn's eyes.

"He has an ability just like you, Shawn," Tom Cruise continues. "However, his is quite…unique."

Shawn blinks.

"Have you noticed anything, Shawn?" Tom Cruise asks. "Does it feel like you cannot…sense presences anymore? Not having any of your precious visions?"

Shawn swallows hard.

"Yes, we know about that." Tom Cruise walks closer to Shawn. "We know so much about you Shawn. So much that we have Jackson here, so that we may suppress your abilities."

Shawn pales. "What does that mean?"

"We don't want to take any chances. When Jackson is around, you cannot access your abilities."

"Wyatt," Shawn breathes out. Of course. His friend hadn't abandoned him – Shawn just can't see him anymore.

"Yes, your ghost friend…" Tom Cruise chuckles. "A shame that he was one of the misfortunate ones."

Shawn's eyes darken and he tests the strength of the chains again, somehow hoping his strength will return to him. "You killed him," he says lowly.

"He was expendable," Tom Cruise explains. "But you, of course…we can do so much with you."

Shawn lashes out, his leg kicking towards Tom Cruise. He almost makes connection with the man's kneecap but he only laughs. "Oh, Shawn," he says, looking down on the man with a smile, "we are going to have so much fun with you."

The man opposite Tom Cruise suddenly reaches out and holds Shawn's legs down.

Shawn looks in fear at Tom Cruise, who produces a syringe from his shirt pocket.

"No," Shawn says, knowing how feeble he sounds. But with his arms and legs restrained, all he has are his words.

"Don't worry; we're just going to take a quick field trip." Tom Cruise injects the syringe into Shawn's forearm.

After a few moments of trying to fight the grip of the man holding his legs and the chains holding back his hands, Shawn feels his body slow down. The room seems almost out of focus. Blearily, Shawn realizes they have given him some type of muscle relaxant.

Tom Cruise unlatches the chains from Shawn's arms and the man holding his legs steps back. With one swoop, Tom Cruise has Shawn in his arms and he walks down the hall, towards a room with a metal table. He drops Shawn unceremoniously onto it and begins to pull various items out of drawers.

"What…" Shawn's voice is barely a whisper. "What are you doing…" Jackson isn't standing there anymore and Shawn can see things happening in flashes. _Sweat, sliding down his arms. Laughter. White noise. Photos – a slideshow. A news station, the anchor smiling brightly._

Tom Cruise must recognize the look on Shawn's face. "Yes, you can see it all again, can't you? The medicine we gave you is something of a dual action. You will be completely relaxed, yes. But also…the visions will be strong and frequent."

Shawn's eyes suddenly glaze over, unable to see the man before him or see that he is attaching electrodes to his scalp.

"What do you see now, Shawn?" Tom Cruise's voice reaches him in the haze.

Shawn manages to gasp out, "Fuck you," before the visions overtake him.

 _Running. Running down a hallway. "Did you hear anything?"_

" _I was just about to tell you…"_

" _Is it bad?"_

" _You need to get over there. Soon."_

Shawn tosses his head to one side but he cannot escape the sights.

" _Tell us who this is, Shawn."_

 _Photos. Photo of a landscape. Photo of a mountain. A man on a mountain. Wanted fugitive. David? Donald? Dawson Samuels._

 _A news station? A woman, showing more images._

" _Shawn…"_

Sweat. So much sweat. Shawn can feel how moist he is but can do nothing – his body feels weighted and his mind is a collection of photos and voices.

" _Shawn, don't worry, I'm coming."_

 _Wyatt?_

" _Fight them, Shawn. Fight them as much as you can."_

 _I can't –_

 _Hospitals. Santa Barbara. His father, staring down a newspaper. PSYCHIC DETECTIVE STILL MISSING._

" _You haven't heard from him?"_

" _I'm sorry, Mr. Spencer…"_

The voices and images don't let up. They swirl through his mind and leave him so disoriented that he cannot see what is around him. Shawn cannot see the machine behind him, recording the activity of his brain. Tom Cruise stands behind the window, watching with curiosity.

"It's nothing like we've ever seen," the woman next to him remarks.

"I know…" Tom Cruise says. He turns to walk away and as he does, he calls, "Keep an eye on that one."

The woman turns her attention back on Shawn and his frantic movements. She looks on in hesitation and fear.

* * *

Shawn can't remember how is transported to his bed but he wakes up the following morning with a roiling stomach. His hands aren't chained this time. There is a TV in the new room he is in. He studies each detail of the room, attempting to decipher each one.

He looks down and realizes he's in a plain t-shirt and loose-fitting pants. At his side is a glass of water. Gratefully, Shawn reaches for it but once he grips it successfully, it shatters in his hand.

Shawn jumps off of the bed and flattens his back against the wall, breathing heavily. "Holy shit," he says aloud. He hadn't had his strength ability in quite some time. Had what they done yesterday made this happen?

"Ah, Mr. Spencer…" Tom Cruise is outside his window, smiling. "Improving already I see."

Shawn stalks over to the window. "What the hell have you done to me?" he has never felt this helpless and his voice shakes in fear. He honestly does not know if he will make it out of this.

"We are just making some improvements..." Tom Cruise says. "Making you…more useful."

Shawn's voice wavers. "More useful for what?"

"In due time, Mr. Spencer. For now…watch some television. Read at your leisure. Lunch is in a half hour." He walks away from the window and out of sight. Shawn curses the fact that the one ability to come back full-force was strength and not sight.

He spends ten minutes trying to open the door but it is a fruitless effort. Eventually, Shawn sinks down onto the floor and fumbles for the television remote. He flicks it on just to bring noise into the room but pauses when he glimpses a news program with the same woman he had seen in his vision.

Shawn hadn't had many visions until now – they are all he sees. No more dreams – just voices and images and people, so many people.

The television flicks to a different station and it's a nature special on mountains.

The realization that everything he is seeing now has been seen before makes Shawn feels sick. He immediately stands up and feels his mouth moisten. He rushes to where the toilet is in the corner of the room and heaves. He retches for a few moments before flushing the toilet and collapsing onto the floor.

He stays like this for a few moments, his limbs feeling immobile. His eyes flit up to the ceiling and even there he sees images. A flower, blooming. A man shaking his head. A woman, in another room, screaming.

Shawn covers his eyes with his hands but even behind his hands he can see more images: Tom Cruise looming over him, a nurse running down the hallway, a mess of fire and glass.

Overwhelmed, Shawn screams.

Suddenly, the door swings open and Tom Cruise is there, holding out a syringe.

Shawn doesn't even register his presence and Tom Cruise frowns at this. To the woman behind him he demands, "How much did you give him last session?"

"Just what you asked, sir," she stumbles, looking fearful.

"Damn it," Tom Cruise bends down to Shawn's level. The psychic is staring straight ahead, his body going into spasms. Quickly, Tom administers the contents into Shawn's arm and waits until his body has calmed. His eyes slowly close and he relaxes onto the floor.

Tom Cruise turns to the nurse. "Let's transport him back to the other room. Bring him the lunch though. He'll be hungry when he wakes up." He stands up and strides out of the room, on to the next patient.

Later, Shawn wakes up with the chains around his wrists once more. His temples are pounding and his mouth is dry but he can see the room around him and he breathes a sigh of relief. He notices that there isn't a television but a pile of books at his bedside table. The chains stuck to the wall give him enough mobility that he can reach for the books. The first one on the stack is _One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest_.

"Perfect," Shawn mutters to himself. He sets that one down and picks up a mystery novel instead. As he reads, he can't help feeling slow. He knows that he shouldn't be here but he can't bring himself to fight. His arms feel only strong enough to hold up the paperback. He feels weak just thinking about it and sets the book down.

Christ, he's thirsty. Shawn remembers that he couldn't stop seeing images and now there is nothing. He squeezes his eyes shut tightly and can almost glimpse Wyatt's concerned expression, his voice saying, _"Shawn? SHAWN?"_

But when Shawn looks up and out of the bedroom window, he sees the suppressant man, Jackson, looking back at him.

Shawn 's body involuntarily shrinks inward, eyes looking down at the bedspread and the books in front of him. The man won't stop glaring at him, though, and Shawn strains against the chains pinning him to the bed. "What do you want!" he shouts desperately.

The man says nothing but the door opens and a woman in scrubs sets a tray of food down in front of the psychic.

Shawn's hand grapples for the woman's arm. She startles but doesn't move as his hand encircles her wrist. "Please," Shawn gasps out. "What's going on?"

The woman hesitates and then looks back at the suppressant man. She makes to walk away and Shawn grips her arm tighter. "Please," he whispers.

The woman opens her mouth but closes it when the suppressant man glares at her.

"I'm sorry," she says before pulling away and closing the door behind her.

Shawn lets out a cry of frustration and slams his hand down on the food tray, upending a glass of juice on a turkey sandwich.

"Christ," he mutters, rubbing at his eyes. He reaches for the water on the tray but vehemently refuses to eat. He won't give these people the satisfaction.

Sometime later, Shawn has pushed the tray of food away and is curled on his side on the bed, flipping the pages of one of the books back and forth. He can't focus, he's famished and the suppressant man won't get away from the window.

Eventually, Shawn throws the book at the window. "What!" Shawn shouts at him. He kicks out at the lunch tray and the food crashes onto the concrete floor. He thrashes wildly against the chains, straining so hard that his skin begins to tear and blood runs down in streams. He can only make it to the edge of the bed before he's caught and once he is on the edge, he kicks over the nightstand.

 _That's it, Shawn, fight_.

Shawn looks up. The suppressant man is gone.

The door opens and Tom Cruise rushes in with two other men.

"Shawn," he says, "you need to calm down."

"Fuck you!" Shawn hisses. He spits at the older man. Tom Cruise doesn't hesitate in kicking him in the midsection.

Shawn wheezes and hunches over. He grabs the nearby lunch tray and moves to hit one of the men with it but he can't reach and he drops it, eyes gleaming with hatred at the three men.

"Alright, take him," Tom Cruise says to the two men. "Room six." He moves over to the doorway with his arms crossed.

 _Water. "Mr. Spencer…" Choking. Coughing._

Shawn recoils when the men advance on him. "No!" he looks to Tom Cruise. "You can't!"

Tom Cruise shrugs. "The less commotion you cause Mr. Spencer, the less we'll have to do this."

Shawn fights against the grip of the two men but they dominate him and Shawn's strength is dwindling. Nevertheless, he kicks out and wriggles his body around as they carry him to a room with a steel tub against the far corner of the wall.

Tom Cruise grabs him by the back of the shirt and dunks his head straight into the cold water.

Shawn gasps and water goes into his mouth. He chokes and sputters when his head is lifted out and his arm thrashes, attempting to get the man away from him.

"Shawn…" Tom Cruise warns him before plunging him in again, holding his head down.

Panicking, Shawn kicks out his legs. He doesn't want to die this way. He wonders if Wyatt died in a similar fashion. His hand makes connection with Tom Cruise's knuckles and he slams it down.

"Son of a bitch!" Tom Cruise curses. He drops Shawn who stops himself from falling into the cold water.

Tom Cruise wastes no time in pushing him in again, this time holding him down with even more strength. He is under the water for such a long time that Shawn begins to see spots and his wild thrashing slows. When he believes he will actually die, Tom Cruise yanks him out and throws him onto the tiled floor.

Shawn gasps and coughs, pushing himself upright and heaving up water.

 _Not this time, Shawn._

Shawn looks up and a flash of Wyatt appears and then disappears.

 _Don't kill yourself over this_.

Shawn looks up at Tom Cruise and mumbles, "Okay."

Tom Cruise looks amused. "Yes, Shawn?"

"I'll…" Shawn swallows. "I'll go back to my room."

Tom Cruise chuckles before grabbing hold of Shawn and yanking him down the hallway, into another unfamiliar room. "We're only just getting started," he says.

* * *

Meanwhile, in Santa Barbara…

Doctor Peter Bronson paces anxiously back and forth in his office. On his desk is a newspaper but the front cover is visible, on which it reads: PSYCHIC DETECTIVE STILL MISSING.

Peter Bronson was the man to discover Shawn's abilities after a freak thunderstorm. He supported the psychic through many trials and examinations. He was there when Shawn seemed to have lost his abilities and then when he seemed to gain the ability of clairvoyance.

Peter had had such a strong relationship with Shawn that he knew his father, Henry and his best friend, Gus. They seemed to care immensely for the welfare of the man and Peter found it admirable.

Now, however, it has been three months since Shawn Spencer disappeared. The police have come to him on two separate occasions but Peter doesn't know anything about what happened. Even Henry dropped by his office, expression solemn and body stiff. He hadn't said much but merely sat with Peter while Peter attempted to parse out the truth of what happened.

Peter hadn't been able to figure it out…until now. Nearly two weeks ago, another patient had come to him, confiding that she was experiencing a weird sensation in her body. She likened it to feeling like currents were coursing within her. After multiple examinations, Peter discovered that the woman could manipulate electricity. It was unlike anything he had ever seen before – but it was eerily similar to Shawn and the discovery of his own abilities.

Soon after Peter had consulted with the woman, two men had shown up at his door. One was tall, leery, with crooked teeth and shining eyes. He had immediately wanted to know what the whereabouts of Lisa Devon were. Of course, Peter could not give this information away, nor did he want to. That was when the second man, shorter, but with massive forearms, pushed him against the wall with one hand, threatening to break his neck if he didn't give them the information.

Peter had panicked but knew he would never be able to do that to a person. Luckily, a nurse walking by with papers to sign stopped in and the two men quickly scrambled away but not before promising to see Peter again.

Peter had contacted Lisa and told her of what happened; concerned that the two men were part of an organization he had only heard rumors about. If he was right, the organization was taking people with these strange abilities, no questions asked. The rumor was…more than half of the people taken died and the few remaining were altered forever. Peter's specialty in his profession was certainly not 'superpowers' but he had an interest in the unknown and heard about this information because of his curiosity.

Thankfully, Lisa understood the severity of the situation. Peter set her up with a man he knew that created new IDs for people, passports, driver's licenses, social security numbers, etc. He secured her a home in Vancouver, Canada and Lisa departed only one day after Peter's warning.

Since then, Peter has taken up a secret correspondence with Lisa and the men have not returned back. However, it has become very obvious to Peter how and why Shawn Spencer disappeared.

That is exactly why Peter has to fix it.

He doesn't want to tell Henry Spencer yet – in case he is wrong. He worries that he actually _is_ wrong. Peter doesn't have any information on where Shawn is or that he is even still alive.

At that moment, Peter's best friend and IT consultant for the hospital, Owen, runs into his office.

"Peter," he says breathlessly. "I found him."

* * *

Time passes, but Shawn doesn't exactly know how. All he can feel are his limbs, which seem to spasm with each touch. His eyes won't shut, no matter how desperately he tries. All he can hear are whispers, but he isn't sure if they are actually there or if he is _hearing_ them.

His body is lifted and dragged from room to room, each procedure a new kind of torture. First, the water, then, the white noise, which has Shawn scrabbling to cover his ears but his hands are restrained. Then there is the photo collage, each image bringing forth a future that Shawn can foresee. The noise Shawn hears is so loud and he cannot make it go away. He thrashes on tables, on the floor, in other's arms, but cannot get free.

Intermittently, Tom Cruise will come by and inject him with something else and Shawn will either slump in relief or scream louder. He feels completely energized and spent at the same time.

In all the haze, he looks for Wyatt, but there are no concrete images for Shawn to go off of – everyone is a blur, misshapen.

"How is he doing?"

"As you would imagine, sir. If we keep pushing him like this, we'll kill him."

"Interesting."

"Is that what you want?"

"I just want to test the boundaries a bit further. Then we'll put him to use."

* * *

It's another day and Shawn is propped up in the room with the TV. Ironically, he's watching _Prison Break_. His lunch tray is at his feet and his stomach rumbles in protest. Shawn brings a trembling hand over his midsection and sighs. It has been so long since he has eaten solid food. Before, it was a silent protest but now he cannot even bring himself to lift the food container from the tray.

Exasperated, Shawn sits back against the pillows.

Suddenly, the door opens and Tom Cruise is standing there.

Shawn looks at him dispassionately. "If you've come to take me somewhere, you can do without the restraints. I can't even move my arm."

Chuckling, Tom Cruise walks over to the lunch tray and picks up an orange Jello-O container. He rips off the covering and plunks a spoon in it before placing it in Shawn's hand.

Shawn stares at him before slowing setting it down on the bed. He worries at this rate that there will not be another test of strength like this, but if it has to be this way, then fine.

"Oh, Shawn," Tom Cruise sighs. "When will you cooperate?"

Shawn groans and puts his face in the pillow. "Probably never," he responds airily.

"You know, Shawn, we can put you in a more comfortable setting…" Tom Cruise says. "Of course, you would have to more willing to work with me, here."

"Nope." Shawn says into the pillow.

"A shame," Tom Cruise stands up from the bed. "I would think maybe _Henry_ would not want you to act this way."

Shawn bolts upright from his position. "What did you just say?" he asks breathlessly.

"Shawn, you wouldn't think we don't know anything about your family?" Tom Cruise asks, leering at the younger man. "We know all about your father, the detective, your friend Gus and that perky little blonde woman…Jules?"

Shawn's mouth parts in horror.

"What a shame it would be…" Tom Cruise continues. "For you to die in this fashion. How disappointing. And you have disappointed your father so often, haven't you, Shawn?"

Shawn swallows hard.

"Maybe we should bring him in," Tom Cruise suggests. "Have him see up close what you have become."

Shawn's trembling hand balls into a fist. "Don't," is all he can spit out.

"I won't do anything, Shawn," Tom Cruise says as he walks to the door. "If you cooperate."

He walks out of the door and in a fit of anger, Shawn throws the lunch tray onto the ground, shouting all the while. He tosses silverware into the air and kicks the tray twice into the wall before he collapses onto the ground.

 _Henry, sitting up. Watching television. Apprehended from behind._

No. They can't.

 _A knife against his throat – the glint of the sharp blade reflecting in Shawn's eyes. "Shawn…"_

"OKAY!" Shawn shouts, hands over his eyes. "OKAY!"

 _The crimson liquid pooling, Henry reeling, falling onto the floor._

Shawn screams, one hand over his eye, grappling for the Jell-O container that had fallen on its side near the sink. He reaches it and spoons some into his mouth desperately.

The images of what could happen fade slowly, giving everything in the room a red, blood-like haze. Shawn gags but shoves another spoonful into his mouth. He does this until the container is empty and then he throws it against the wall, disgusted with himself.

"Fuck!" he shouts, turning and leaning against the wall, the cold concrete resting against his forehead. He pivots and knocks over the nightstand next to his bed. "Fuck!"

Exhausted, Shawn leans his back against the frame of the bed, sliding down until he rests on the floor and is opposite the blank wall, staring ahead.

From the window, Tom Cruise watches and smiles.

* * *

Days later, Shawn is feeling…different. He can now walk comfortably and stretch his arms. He can read for hours on end without feeling disoriented. He eats – only small portions. He will take a few bites of whatever is on the tray he is given, disgusted with himself for allowing it to go this far.

Tom Cruise will show up, sometimes with the suppressant man. He will bring him into various rooms, making him run for long distances, jump through intricate obstacle courses and parse through a collection of photos, each more gruesome than the last. At first, none of it means anything. The photos are horrid shots of people in various degrees of disarray. A woman, bloodied on the ground, a man with half of his arm missing – horrifying images meant to spark something in Shawn, he is sure.

He adamantly refuses to participate, until Tom Cruise has him forced against the wall, until his eyes can only see the one photo, until his eyelids strain so much so that they eventually open and Shawn is forced to look at the image. Once this happens, the information floods in.

"Shauna Larder, killed on the twenty-first of December, the perp used a nine millimeter hand gun, left at the scene, prints wiped off," Shawn will recite, words tumbling unbidden. He wants to stop talking, but he can't. He wants to lie down and _rest_ and run away but Tom Cruise is there at every moment, forcing his head into the water or kicking him in the ribcage, threatening him with every sort of torture imaginable.

Finally, Shawn gives in.

It is two weeks later and Shawn is lying in a king-sized bed. Tom Cruise has given him a new room, with a separate bathroom and chest of drawers for clothes. He has a TV and a bookshelf, even a small pantry to keep snacks in. He still cannot leave the room, but sometimes Tom Cruise will take him on walks as he hands Shawn photos. Shawn gets glimpses into other rooms, of men and women like him, lethargic, laying or sitting in various poses, unblinking as he passes by. Some run to the window and yell, but they are quickly subdued. Those days, Shawn tries not to dwell on it all too much.

The door opens and Tom Cruise strides in, tossing Shawn a pack of Camel Blues.

Shawn sits up, eyes narrowed.

"Yes, we know you smoked." Tom Cruise rolls his eyes. "When will you stop being surprised?"

Shawn studies the pack curiously and then looks up at Tom Cruise.

"C'mon," Tom Cruise says, gesturing for him to follow. "We're going outside."

Shawn's hands scramble for purchase. His fingers tangle with the sheets. His chest feels tight with anxiety. "Outside," he repeats.

"Yes, outside," Tom Cruise says in exasperation. He walks over to the man and grabs his arm forcefully. "Come on, now."

Shawn shakes his head, hand still enclosed around the sheets. He hasn't been outside in who knows how long. He doesn't want to go outside. He doesn't know what's out there.

Tom Cruise sighs and shoves Shawn off of the bed, dragging him by the shirtsleeve. "Let's go," he says impatiently, kicking at Shawn's calves when he begins to drag his feet.

Eventually, Tom Cruise leads him to a courtyard with a fence so high only a splice of grass and blue sky can be seen. Armed guards are lined up along each side. He turns to Shawn and gestures for him to give him the cigarette pack. He rips off the wrapping, pulls one out and lights it. He hands one to Shawn, who slowly puts it in his mouth with hesitation, hand trembling.

Tom Cruise's lighter looms in Shawn's vision and he nearly jumps back. It's pink. Shawn scrambles to find why this jogs a memory in him. Reluctantly, he lets the other man light his cigarette and gratefully inhales a deep breath into his lungs. After a few moments of doing this, he turns to Tom with a raised eyebrow.

"I'm sure you're wondering why we're here," Tom Cruise says. He flicks some ashes onto the pavement. "We've discovered a young man with another strange ability. He can _jump_ from one place to another." Tom Cruise blows smoke in the direction of a nearby guard, who coughs. "A teleporter, if you will."

Shawn nods.

"We want to bring him in, study him, see how it all works." Tom Cruise turns to the psychic. "And I need your help, Shawn."

Shawn pauses, cigarette grazing his lips.

"Of course, this trip will have its benefits," Tom Cruise says. "We will give you even more freedom. You will have full-access to the library. We will even allow you to come to this area from time to time, given that someone is with you."

The cigarette smolders between Shawn's fingertips.

"What will I have to do?" Shawn eventually finds himself asking.

"Oh, nothing too strenuous," Tom Cruise stomps his cigarette out with his shoe. "You would mainly assist us in finding the man's location. You may have to help apprehend him. It depends."

Shawn's eyes scuttle from one armed security guard to the next. He can't find it within himself to think of a way out of the enclosed space. There would be no chance for him – even if he had his old healing abilities, being shot by thirteen different men might make it a little difficult to come back.

Shawn looks at the man opposite him and knows that he should not be agreeing to this. He should not be outside and he should not be sharing a _moment_ with him, for Christ's sake. He wants to protest but his words feel limited and his arms feel sore again already.

"Okay," he whispers. "I'll do it."

"Excellent," Tom Cruise says.

* * *

Owen gives Peter all of the information he has, but it isn't much – at first.

He has deciphered that a man named Shawn Spencer signed on a lease for an apartment in Williamsburg. His cell phone was not traceable. A few NYC natives, acquaintances of Owen, were amazingly able to provide Owen with a description of someone who may be the psychic, seemingly talking to no one at various spots in NYC. He was described as a mid-thirties man, brunette, five foot nine, hazel eyes, with a slim build.

Owen is excitable to give Peter this information but unfortunately, it is not nearly enough for Peter to go to Henry with. New York City is a city of nine million people and ultimately, Shawn may not even be there anymore. Peter has a strong suspicion that the men that had pursued him successfully caught up to Shawn in NYC. Thinking about Shawn's whereabouts makes Peter nauseous. He wants to be looking for Shawn and not his body, but judging the reputation of the organization, Peter suspects the worst.

Peter and Owen strategize for days, digging up details of men, women and young adults captured by the organization. A woman found dead at the side of a road, foul play suspected. A man who collapsed at a crosswalk, inexplicably. Peter can only assume that these unfortunate people were killed due to the nature of their abilities. The rumor with the organization was that those who seemed too powerful to be overcome were ultimately expendable and soon eliminated.

Peter hopes that this has not happened to Shawn. He believes if Shawn were to pass away, his family and friends would know about it. He does not know what the organization does with the bodies they accumulate, but he hopes they would at least be decent about it.

Finally, Peter gets a call from a man who claims to know where the organization operates – in Queens. The man tells him he thinks it's in the basement of what was formerly a large shoe company's factory building. It's in a remote area which is most likely why no one has suspected anything out of the ordinary.

Peter writes the address down frantically on a napkin as soon as he gets the call. When he clicks off from the conversation, he dials Henry's number, feeling anticipatory.

Henry answers after the first ring. "Dr. Bronson?"

"Henry, please, call me Peter," the man pleads.

Henry asks, "What's this about?"

"I think I have a lead on Shawn," Peter says breathlessly.

"I'm coming over." Henry hangs up and Peter sets his phone down, letting out a deep breath. Telling Henry Spencer what is most likely happening to his son right now will not be easy.

Henry Spencer arrives like a storm, his every expression powerful and upending. People in nearby offices pop their heads out of the doorways, curious to see the man that is walking so determinedly down the hallway, breathing so loudly as to heard from a great distance.

Finally, Henry makes it to Peter's office and sits heavily down in the chair opposite his desk. "Peter," he greets gruffly. Peter looks at the man and can see the exhaustion sitting everywhere on the man – in his slumped shoulders, pale expression and weary, bitter eyes. He looks like a man that's given up all hope. Peter is hoping to give some of that back to him.

"Henry," Peter begins. "I think I have a good idea of where your son is. Queens, New York City, to be exact."

Henry takes off the red ball cap he'd been wearing and rubs a hand over his head. "Why the hell would he be in Queens?"

Peter exhales a heavy sigh. "That is the bad part of this news."

Henry seems to pale. "What? What happened to my son?"

Peter holds up his hands in what he hopes is a placating gesture. "Henry, please. I don't know if anything _has_ happened. It's only what I suspect may be occurring."

Henry swallows with difficulty. "Is it that bad?"

Peter laces his fingers together and looks seriously at the detective. "I believe that Shawn may have been captured by an organization that hunts those with supernatural abilities."

Henry is speechless. His mouth parts, as if he is about to speak and then shuts just as quickly.

"We both know that your son exhibited some…unique abilities a few months ago," Peter quickly says. "He then seemed to lose those abilities. But then soon after that, Shawn came to me with new information."

"The psychic thing," Henry says faintly.

"Yes," Peter nods. "Shawn suddenly seemed to gain psychic abilities. Seeing into the future, talking to spirits, what have you."

Henry rubs a hand over his eyes. "After he got struck by that damn lightning, we agreed that we wouldn't keep any more secrets from each other."

"I'm afraid Shawn may have had a reason to keep this a secret from you," Peter explains. "I've heard rumors about this organization. They are known to capture the people they follow and threaten them and those they know in order for the person to go with them quietly."

Henry's hand clenches tightly. "Do you think this is what happened to my son?"

Peter nods. "What I can only guess is that Shawn had some idea of these men and left Santa Barbara for New York City. Once he was there, he kind of just…disappeared. I had men canvass the area near his apartment and they say no one has gone in or out of it for weeks."

"God," Henry exhales, trembling hand reaching to cover his mouth.

"Shawn's psychic ability is definitely…interesting," Peter chooses his word carefully. "I don't want to phrase it in this manner, Henry, but what this means is…they will want to keep him around."

Henry's eyes harden. "What does that mean?"

Peter sighs. "They will essentially pick him apart like a lab rat."

Henry quickly rose from his chair and began pacing the length of room. "How soon?" he grits out between his teeth.

"What?"

"How soon can we get to New York?" Henry asks, fists at his sides.

Peter looks on at the man with concern. "Henry, you know as well as I do that we don't have nearly enough information to go to the police with, let alone New York."

Henry again puts a hand over his mouth, feeling sick. "What kind of…" he swallows thickly. "What kinds of things are they doing to him?"

Feeling awkward sitting down, Peter gets up and leans against the front of his desk. "There are some rudimentary exams, ones I went through with Shawn myself. Tests of basic physical strength, vision and reflexes. Then there are the more lengthy processes, like studying brainwaves." Peter crosses his arms, feeling angry just thinking about what he is going to say next. "These people…they are dangerous for a reason. They will do whatever they can to get what they want. They'll break him down until he is…complacent."

Henry exhales a shaky breath, understanding what Peter means.

"Henry," Peter says urgently, "We are going to get him back."

Henry shakes his head slowly. "What if there isn't anything to get back?"

* * *

Shawn rises at five AM on the day he is supposed to tag along with Tom Cruise. He stares at the wall for ten minutes, unable to shake himself from a stupor that never seems to dissipate. He paces the length of his room and then eats a small breakfast – a cup of black coffee and a bowl of oatmeal. Shawn can't seem to stomach much of anything lately and he doesn't doubt that it's from all of the medications. They have stopped injecting him and instead give him various pills. At first, Shawn stuffed them under his mattress but when Tom Cruise found out he brought Shawn back to the room with the steel tub and now…now Shawn takes the pills.

He is allowed outside to the courtyard as many times as he likes, so long as he has someone with him and now he goes outside fifteen, twenty times a day. It's gotten to the point where he smokes so much he can feel his chest aching but he has no other excuse to be outside and Tom Cruise won't accept that the psychic may 'just want to get some fresh air.'

Shawn is outside, sitting on the concrete with a book when Tom Cruise marches outside, tosses a coat at him and says, "It's time."

Shawn shivers, even with the coat clutched around him. He wants to blame it on the fact that he is skinnier by the day but also because he is fucking terrified all the time. He doesn't want to _help_ these people, these…torturers. But he can't let himself be killed. Wyatt told him so. Besides, if he makes it outside, maybe he'll have a chance to get away. Albeit a very small chance, but a chance all the same.

He follows Tom Cruise's determined gait and passes the familiar bank of rooms he is surrounded by every day: housing men, women and even a few teenagers. Ducking his head, he refuses to look too long at the people that are either restrained or leaning against the walls lethargically. It makes him anxious and anticipatory, wondering how long it will be before Tom Cruise doesn't think of him as a new toy to play with. He wonders how long it took them to get sick of Wyatt.

Two imposing men wearing three-piece suits join the duo sometime along the walk and Shawn tries his best to stare straight ahead.

Before Shawn can walk down yet another long hallway of unfamiliar rooms, Tom Cruise stops him, one hand cupped on his shoulder and says, "Sorry, Shawn, but you and I both know you can't see what the outside of this place looks like."

Shawn raises an eyebrow. He doesn't get to speak before yet again; his sleeve is yanked back and the man injects him with some type of medication. "Goddamn," he whispers as he staggers. "Can't you guys just blindfold me or something?"

He wavers for a few moments before finally he collapses and one of the men in the group lifts him up easily onto his shoulder and looks down at the psychic. "Damn, that shit works fast on him, doesn't it?"

"We've been giving him higher doses," Tom Cruise says absentmindedly as he looks at the expansive face of his silver watch. The man opposite him seems unsure of where to bring Shawn next but Tom Cruise gives him no indication of what to do.

"Sir," one of Tom Cruise's assistants breathlessly appears at his side, an iPad in his hand. "What exactly is the purpose of using Shawn Spencer in this exercise?"

Tom Cruise looks over at the young man with a miffed expression. "If we need him on our team, he's going to have to learn how to fight another person with abilities. How to kill."

The assistant pales and pulls up a short summary of Shawn's medical treatment since entering the facility. He gives the man the iPad to see this and says, "Sir, Mr. Spencer is already in a significantly weakened state, both physically and mentally. I don't think it's the greatest idea to put him in this type of situation yet-"

Tom Cruise holds up a palm and hands the iPad back. "Thomas, it isn't your place to give me orders."

"Of course, sir, but please, consider what you will do to this man. You cannot plunge him into this life so quickly. You want him as a long-term patient, don't you?"

Tom Cruise quickly shoves the younger man up against a nearby wall, hands enclosed around his neck. "What did I just tell you about giving me orders?"

The younger man gasps, legs kicking desperately for purchase, hands scrabbling to release himself from the strong grip. "I'm sorry," he chokes out.

Tom Cruise wrenches the younger man to the side, flexing his arm in irritation. "If he dies," he says lowly. "Then so what? I can replace him, just like I can replace you."

Unrecognizable, Wyatt stands crouched in the far corner of the area in contemplation. "C'mon, Shawn, kick some ass." he says quietly, watching as the psychic is carried to a waiting vehicle outside.

Ten minutes later, Tom Cruise and the two men get into a waiting SUV and head to lower Manhattan. Tom Cruise smokes a cigar and drives with one hand, keeping an eye on Shawn, who he has sprawled in the backseat.

A few days previously, Tom Cruise had contemplated bringing in the man with the ability-suppressing abilities. He was quite a useful piece to have around and Tom Cruise had wondered if bringing Shawn out into the field this soon was too risky. However, Shawn can't prove his worth if he can't display his areas of strength. This will have to be a risk that Tom Cruise takes. If Shawn tests his limits, Tom will have to make the decision if Shawn is worth the hassle or if he is indeed, expendable.

They eventually make it into lower Manhattan, where they believe the man they are searching for is currently. Someone at his workplace once made an official report expressing concern for the man, who was acting 'suspicious' and 'out of place.' A few men who worked under Tom Cruise scouted the area and believed the investigation to be 'worth their time.'

They have many different people of various ethnicities with a multitude of abilities, but none of them can teleport. Yet.

Shawn stirs awake as they pull into a parking garage and instinctively, he flinches backward, expecting to be somehow restrained in his bed but he is spread across two seats in the back of a car. Breathing harshly, he opens the door of the SUV and collapses on all fours onto the pavement. Unable to stop himself, he dry-heaves.

"What's wrong with him?" one of the men with Tom Cruise asks, after having got out of the car and moving close to Shawn in case he tried to make a break for it.

"Side effect of the medication most likely," Tom Cruise shrugs. "Get him up."

The two men heave Shawn up by his armpits and the psychic groans as his vision swims. He hasn't been outside in who knows how long. The noises of NYC alone are terrifying him but his vision is going hazy again.

Shawn knows that his abilities have morphed. Before being captured, Shawn could do not simply look at a photo of someone and _know_ things about them. A day prior to this trip, Tom Cruise had laid a series of photos in front of the psychic. Shawn had been able to know what the man's name was without asking: _Lyle Poole_. He knew his profession: _accountant_. His age: _twenty-seven_. And various other facts: _married, with one child, living in an apartment in lower Manhattan. Suspected ability of teleportation_.

Feeling a roiling in his stomach and a pounding in his heart, Shawn knows that he cannot do this. The more he knows, the worse he feels. But the vision, the knowledge he can glean of Lyle, will not stop coming. _Lyle at work, Lyle laughing with friends, Lyle getting married. Their son, Bradley, walking for the first time, his wife standing by with a camera_.

Fist slamming on the pavement, Shawn attempts to bring himself back in the physical world but he is blinded by images. Tom Cruise kicks out at his midsection but Shawn does not waver from his crouched position.

"Get up," Tom Cruise says. Shawn groans in response.

"Sir?" one of the men asks, never having experienced a situation like this with the suppressant man.

Tom Cruise sighs before lunging down, grabbing the younger man by the back of his coat and slamming him against a nearby support beam. The psychic's eyes are clouded and he slaps him across the face.

Shawn sputters, eyes rolling before meeting Tom Cruise's. "Sorry," he rasps out.

Tom pulls a canister of pills out of his suit pocket. "Here," he hands it to him. "We need you alert for this." The canister is of a clear plastic and has no distinctive markings on it, no way to tell what the medication is. This is nothing new; Shawn is administered countless medications that he knows nothing about. However, he does not know if all of this medication _is_ actually making him calm down or rather, making the visions more intense than before.

Shawn looks suspiciously at the pills and then back at the older man but reluctantly puts the pills in his own pocket. He follows the three older men out of the parking garage, Tom Cruise at his side and the two men directly behind. Breathing deeply, Shawn attempts to restrain himself. Staying inside a small and enclosed space for so long makes New York City as a whole entirely too overwhelming. The screeching of cars braking, ambulance sirens wailing and perpetual construction happening at every corner is making sweat appear along Shawn's hairline.

To add to the stress is the newfound ability Shawn finds himself dealing with. Every person he passes on the street has a kind of profile in Shawn's mind. He passes upwards of twenty people in a few seconds and knows nearly every single person's history. _The man selling hot dogs and espresso is Ethan Waldrop, thirty-five, father of three, living in Queens, NY._ _The woman on the nearby stoop is Michelle, a recovering alcoholic and a court reporter. The man behind me, he works for the corporation Tom Cruise built but he actually thinks the suit he's wearing is uncomfortable and he wishes he took that baseball scholarship back in college._

Before, Shawn used to have to focus to even get a modicum of this type of information. Now, it won't leave him alone. Tom Cruise notices his distress but his expression does not exhibit any type of concern. Instead he mutters out of the side of his mouth, "Take a pill."

Desperate, Shawn reaches for the canister and dry-swallows one, wincing at the feel of it in his throat. They walk on and the visions seem to lessen. Shawn is able to focus on just Lyle, who is a few miles away, at his desk at work, typing an e-mail to a supervisor. Shawn relays this information to Tom Cruise, who grins in satisfaction.

"What else, Shawn?" he asks. Shawn doesn't like the way he asks this. He feels ridiculous, like a circus performer.

"He's got a meeting at two," Shawn says. "An important one. Something about an investment."

"Looks like he won't make it," Tom slips on a pair of sunglasses.

They make it to the building where Lyle works and each step they take makes Shawn more anxious. His hands tremble at his sides and he begins to inhale and exhale quite heavily. Again, Tom elects to express any concern, most likely because he doesn't give a shit.

While Tom argues with the security guard at the entrance, Shawn feels desperate to somehow contact Lyle before they can go up the stairs. If only he had a cell phone…

Suddenly, Shawn glimpses a fire alarm on the wall to his left. It's stupid and he may get himself killed for it. But he can't go through with this. He can't help these men kill another person. The thought of being tortured all over again isn't ideal but Shawn can't dwell on that right now. The only real focus Shawn can have is how to provide a distraction so that he may pull the alarm.

Unfortunately, somehow Tom Cruise and the security end up laughing and shaking each other's hands before Tom Cruise waves Shawn and the two men over. They have been cleared to go upstairs.

They take the elevator to the thirteenth floor and Shawn anxiously taps his hand against his leg, closing his eyes but seeing it all the time. _Tom apprehending Lyle outside of the break room. Lyle getting slammed down to the ground. An injection. Convulsions. "Shit, what happened?"_

"This isn't going to work," Shawn whispers, so lowly that neither Tom Cruise, nor the two men flanking him hear. Lyle will die without ever being taken to the building. His body will not react decently with the injections they have been periodically giving Shawn.

Shawn knows that if he says this aloud, they won't give this information a lot of thought. They will do it anyway. "He's in the break room," Shawn says audibly, strategizing quickly as the elevator ascends.

The elevator doors open and the four men walk into the office. Tom takes the lead at the secretary's desk and because the two men are flanking Tom's sides, posing as 'old buddies' of Lyle's 'from college', Shawn makes a mad dash for the break room. He has learned to be light and silent on his feet when he has to so no one takes too much notice of him. He gets to what he knows is the breakroom and slams the door behind him. He locks it, panting heavily and faces the man he knows to be Lyle.

The mid-thirties man standing in front of the coffee maker looks at him in curiosity, hand running over a mess of blonde curls. "Uh, can I help you?" he asks nervously.

Shawn puts his hands on his knees, still out of breath. "Damn cigarettes," he mutters to himself.

"What?"

Shawn strides over to the man, getting closer. "Listen, we don't have much time. My name is Shawn Spencer and I'm here to warn you. Men are after you. Dangerous men. They know about you. They know about your…ability."

The man's blue eyes widen and his expression turns fearful. "I…I don't know what you're talking about," he stammers.

Shawn groans in exasperation. "Yes, you do, man. It's okay. I'm psychic. It's how I know about you and your wife, your son, the apartment here in Manhattan. I even know that you got drunk on your twenty-eighth birthday and got alcohol poisoning."

"Holy shit," Lyle chokes, hand reaching up to loosen the tie from his neck.

Shawn nods frantically. "Listen, I'm going to pull the fire alarm and then you run out of here, okay? Get out of New York. Take your wife and the kid. Get as far as you can. I've seen what happens if they capture you." Shawn's every limb is trembling and he has to hold his breath for a moment to get out what he has to say next. "You will die if you let them take you, I promise you that." His eyes drift for a moment. "I'll probably be living proof of that soon."

Lyle shakes his head. "I don't understand…I can't just _leave_. I have a job, a home!"

"You have to," Shawn says vehemently. "Now!" he spots the same fire alarm as he had seen in the lobby near the refrigerator. Quickly, he yanks on the small lever and a siren immediately sounds overhead, red and orange lights flashing. " _Go_ ," he pushes him toward the door and they run through the mess of people already clamoring for the exit.

Shawn spots Tom Cruise and his two men at the desk, looking confused and then outraged at the sight of the psychic and the accountant getting away. They make as if to run and Shawn urges Lyle to go faster, running down the staircase, always being two steps ahead of Tom and his men, who are prohibited from getting any closer due to the massive amount of people. The run is torture on Shawn's calves but there's no way in hell that he's letting an innocent man get murdered today.

Once they make it to the lobby, Shawn can hear Tom shouting orders but he keeps going. He and Lyle run down four different streets, bypassing food carts and the homeless, lounging on the sidewalks. They don't wait for cross-walks, instead electing to risk almost getting killed by speeding taxis. At one point, Lyle has to jump over an open manhole and a maintenance worker pokes his head out in confusion.

They arrive at a less-populated street lined with coffee shops and used bookstores. Shawn turns to the accountant and says, "I'm serious. You have to get out of here. It's the only way to stay safe."

"What if they catch me anyway?" Lyle asks. "I think I used to feel them watching me. Don't they know where I am?"

Shawn shakes his head. "I see it all up here," he points to his temple. "I know how it works for you. If you drive out of here, you should be okay. They'll track airline tickets so rent a car. With cash."

Lyle nods, looking frantic. "I- thank you," he stammers. "I had thought maybe something was going on but…I was kind of hoping I was making it all up in my head."

Shawn shakes his head. "Unfortunately, no." he sees a taxi idle by and he raises his hand. It screeches to a halt and Shawn shoves the man inside. He leans into the rolled-down window and says quickly, "Please, stay safe." The cab pulls away and Shawn makes his way back to Lyle's office building.

Tom Cruise and his two men had lost sight of Shawn once they broke out of the lobby but they see him coming back and are none too pleased. As soon as he comes into view, they grab him by the shirt collar. They lead him down an empty alleyway, punching, kicking and pulling at his hair and various limbs, demanding the whereabouts of Lyle. Even while blood runs from his mouth and nose, dribbling onto his chin, Shawn laughs in the face of his captors.

"He's gone," he says, voice garbled. "He's fucking gone and you can't do anything about it."

They shove the psychic onto the ground and threaten torture or even an overdose of medication, but Shawn lies on the ground and refuses to give. They push him against the wall, handcuff him and hold the syringe at his neck but Shawn says with a lopsided grin, "I can see your future, you know? Don't you want to know how it all ends?"

Tom Cruise grimaces and puts a strong grip on the psychic's neck. "No, but I can sure as hell guarantee what happens to you."

Shawn passes out at the pain but notes with satisfaction as he slumps toward the ground that the men elect not to inject him after all.


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's note: Okay so part 3 was waayyy too long in one chapter so I decided to separate it! Sorry about that. Anyway, thanks for reading!**

* * *

Three days later, Shawn both regrets and embraces what he did. He knows that he saved a man's life – and subsequently, two other lives –but he isn't sure it was worth all this pain. He is strung up multiple times, hit and kicked, thrown onto the ground, dumped into cold water and starved.

Tom Cruise doesn't let up for days, taunting Shawn on his poor relationship with his father, his stance with the SBPD and the elation everyone back home must feel now that he is gone.

In the haze, Shawn knows that it's all bullshit and that of course his family cares about him, of course the SBPD had been more than a job, etc. But also, _does_ his family care? After all, how long has he been here and no one has come for him. Not even Wyatt, who is a ghost, wants to hang out with him.

Shawn lays on the ground and his vision swims, seeing images of Henry, Madeline, Gus, Juliet, even Lassiter dying. Car crashes, explosions, gun shots and strangulations. It repeats over and over in his mind, his memory, until it no longer feels like what _could_ happen, but what may have _actually_ happened. Even splices of Wyatt appear in his thoughts, looking at him in disgust and disappearing.

Eventually, Shawn loses hope.

Tom Cruise will threaten to kill him, tell him he'll never see his father or best friend again and Shawn will look up at him and ask, "Does it matter?"

And Tom Cruise will laugh.

* * *

Bored, Shawn goes back to smoking and reading. He sits outside on the pavement, chain-smoking and flipping through old copies of _On the Road_ and _Ordinary People_. Shawn has accepted that he will most likely never leave this place – maybe even die in this place, so he may as well occupy his time until then. Rarely do thoughts of his family and friends back home enter his mind anymore.

He still doesn't eat or drink much but at least he is served food again. Tom Cruise would have killed him if he hadn't laughed in his face back in Manhattan, Shawn thinks. He secretly believes that the older man may be confused or even intimidated by his complete disregard for his own life.

This is why Shawn isn't surprised when Tom Cruise walks outside, steals one of his cigarettes and offers to take him along on another outing.

And Shawn is even less surprised when he says yes.

* * *

Peter and Henry tell Gus what's going on.

Surprisingly, Gus had an idea about the underground organization like Peter had. He hadn't been sure, though and therefore hadn't said much about it. Gus confides that he thought things like this only happened in movies. He was wrong.

Peter brings Owen into the fold and he tells them everything he knows, also surfacing a possible address to the building that Shawn is being kept in. Nothing is definite, however, which makes every lead frustratingly complicated.

They set up camp in the Psych office. Despite Shawn's disappearance, Gus has kept paying the rent for the beachfront location. He'd held out hope for the psychic's return. Both Peter and Henry plan for this to happen.

They roll out the classic transparent board, where Peter and Henry feverishly write down everything they know about the mysterious organization. They have a vague idea of where the building is in New York City and what it is exactly that they do. What they aren't clear on is a) how to tell the SBPD about this, as it is clear that they need some type of intervention b) who the leader of the organization is and c), the most disconcerting, if Shawn is even alive.

Peter wants to believe so and Henry and Gus are adamant that he is. Peter doesn't know enough about the psychic detective to really have a clear opinion but if Shawn is half as determined as his father and best friend, then there is a good chance he will come home to Santa Barbara.

Gus and Henry put together as much of the information as they can into a case file and they only don't go straight to the SBPD because of the late hour.

They vow to go at dawn. Peter readily agrees, saying, "We'll get him back, guys." It sounds feeble and half-hearted in its attempt but Henry looks up and nods wordlessly, eyes shining even in the dark of the Psych office.

* * *

The next 'outing' Tom Cruise and Shawn goes on has favorable results – Tom Cruise gets what he wants and Shawn learns to obey.

The organization gave up on Lyle due to Shawn's interference but that didn't mean that there weren't plenty more people where that came from.

This time there was a new suspect, a slightly younger version of Lyle: blue-eyed and hopeful, giving the organization suspicion for having a possible skill of energy manipulation. Shawn actually is grateful for this distraction; lately Tom Cruise has been punishing him in less severe methods: taking his favorite books and removing his television from the room. He seems to think that Shawn will become so bored that he will destroy himself.

He wasn't entirely wrong on that front.

Shawn no longer feels the familiar tremors of the drugs coursing through him nor does he experience the tilted, hazy visions of future events that have him scrabbling to cover his eyes or his ears. Tom Cruise hasn't threatened him about his family or friends in a while – Shawn thinks this is due to the fact that he won't let himself feel terrified anymore. It is doubtless that he will ever escape from this; at least not alive.

Shawn thinks of what he did to save Lyle while they drive through traffic in the inner city. It had been foolish, for sure. However, he thinks that maybe if he had been complacent with Tom Cruise that he wouldn't be an asset right now. He might even be dead. For Tom Cruise, Shawn is a challenge; a man who will take risks with no regard for the consequences. The leader of the organization can't think of anything that he loves more.

Consequently, Shawn is tagging along for this outing. He will help Tom Cruise he has decided, not just because he has seen the future and ultimately discovered that the kid they're hunting down won't die - at least not anytime soon. But also because Shawn can't condone killing someone, obviously and he would much rather not help these men take in more innocent people. However, if he will be kept alive he will continue doing what he can to survive.

Shawn struggles to understand what exactly this means and moreover, who he is ultimately becoming.

They make it to an apartment building somewhere in the heart of Brooklyn. Shawn tries not to think of his own apartment, so close from where they are. He thinks about the stiff mattress with its burgundy comforter and the dilapidated coffee table that he lifted off a street corner. He left a mug in the sink and a loaf of bread in the fridge that has almost certainly gone moldy. Shawn almost misses the loud hiss of the shower when he turned it on or the creek of the upstairs neighbors. He thinks how strange it is to miss such insignificant things.

They get out of the car and Shawn winces in preparation for the onslaught of images. _The kid's only twenty-one, crouched in front of the TV, eating a bowl of cereal. He hears the knock at the door and gets up. "Who are you?" a tremble in his voice, somehow already suspicious._

Walking up to the complex, Tom Cruise looks over at Shawn and levels him with a gaze that basically seems to be saying, _don't fuck this up_.

Shawn swallows with difficulty. _He doesn't die, he doesn't die, he doesn't die_ , he repeats inwardly to himself. He goes through the lobby, exhaling a deep breath and avoiding the suspicious eyes of Tom Cruise and one of his men. He will not pass out, he will not tremble today. If he closes his eyes tight enough, he can almost see himself back in his room in the facility. It's almost a reprieve.

They take the stairs, since the young man is only on the second floor. Shawn tries to distance himself from the moment but all he can focus on is the fact that he is essentially bringing an innocent man into a prison-like state. He wants to stop himself but he can't think of an easier way out of this.

Tom Cruise takes initiative to knock at the door and Shawn grabs onto the man's arm urgently when an image hits him like a thunderclap. Tom looks at him, almost defensively as if Shawn is about to hurt him but Shawn whispers, "He's got a gun."

It is true – the young man, Graham, on the other side of the door is walking to them but a gun is tucked into the waistband of his jeans. _He has never used it and he doesn't even know how it works. A friend from Long Island gave it to him after he confided that he had felt as if people were following him._ It is obvious that he has been expecting a moment like this and for that, Shawn feels even worse for doing this.

The door swings open and the kid – he is practically a kid; he still has a roundness to his features – stares them down, tawny hair hanging in his eyes. He glances at Shawn but stares at Tom Cruise, finally asking, "Who are you?" the door is open slightly, displaying only enough for Shawn to spot that Graham is wearing a Green Day t-shirt.

Tom Cruise steps closer to Graham, wedging his foot in the crack in the door and wrenching it open wider. Graham attempts to walk backwards – _reaching for the window latch, thrusting it open, looking below. The drop won't be too bad; maybe he'll break an ankle. If only he can clear the space in enough time…_

"He's going to go for the window," Shawn says out loud, his voice flat and emotionless. _He doesn't die_.

Graham's whiskey-colored eyes find Shawn's and they look betrayed. His mouth opens and closes rapidly, not sure what is happening. "How did you know that?" he asks, steadily backing up toward the bank of windows at the wall. Tom Cruise pursues him, about to grab him and Graham raises his arms quickly, hand outstretched. _Shocking-blue, a light that blinds them all, electricity that shakes the ground, shatters windows._

"Shit, he's going to…" Shawn blurts before racing to the younger man and wrestling him to the ground. He puts an arm against his jugular and grapples for his hands, which are beginning to emit a soft blue glow. "Hurry!" he hisses to Tom Cruise, who extracts a syringe from his jacket pocket.

He quickly strides over and crouches at the level of the two men on the carpeted floor. Shawn, channeling his former ability of heightened strength, forces Graham's forearm upwards. The grip of his wrist is no match for Graham's struggling movements. Tom Cruise is able to inject the contents of the syringe into the young man's forearm with ease. Shawn meets Tom Cruise's eyes during this exchange and something shifts, turning within Shawn that has him feel as if he has been altered indelibly.

For a moment, the lights in the apartment flicker and the TV shuts on and off. Shawn feels an unidentifiable energy coursing through him and he shuts his eyes, hearing Tom Cruise's partner demand, "What the hell's going on?"

Finally, Graham slumps out of the hold Shawn had him and onto the floor. Shawn extracts himself from his position and exhales heavily, feeling out of sorts. The young man on the floor looks visibly fine but all he can think of is how it might not be that way in a few weeks. Tom Cruise discusses something with the man next to him and Shawn rises from the floor, planting his feet into the carpet with determination. He will not lose his grasp now. He can't afford to lose his sanity.

Tom Cruise walks up to him, putting a hand on his shoulder. Shawn doesn't flinch this time.

"You did it," he says, like Shawn doesn't already know, "this time." His grip tightens and Shawn wants to roll his eyes. What is he supposed to say? _I'm sorry I didn't help you before in capturing a man that I knew you would kill?_ He looks back at Graham, lying on the ground helpless and Shawn wants to run. He could turn around and make it outside but he knows what will happen. Tom knows, too. It's why they're both still here. There is no real escape – not yet anyway.

Tom Cruise and his partner talk in low voices to each other as Shawn numbly takes the bowl of Rice Krispies to the sink and rinses and washes it. For some reason it gives him a melancholy feeling to imagine the bowl of cereal abandoned on the table, the only evidence that a man had left abruptly. He hopes that when Graham's family walks in to check on him they will not assume the worst.

On the way out of the room and down the staircase, Tom Cruise's partner lugging Graham on his shoulder, Shawn feels a cold chill come over his body. His eyes darken and his heart seems to stutter. He shuts his eyes and opens one, feeling expectant. At the end of the hallway, Wyatt is standing, looking hesitant.

"Wyatt?" Shawn mouths, not wanting to draw attention to himself as Tom Cruise speaks hurriedly to someone on his phone. He can't help himself; he smiles at the sight of his friend.

"Hang in there," the older man says, looking almost lackadaisical, like he and Shawn are joking around again outside his apartment. He looks over at Tom Cruise and his partner, who are now preparing to go down the staircase.

Shawn makes as if to move towards the spirit but Wyatt shakes his head and disappears, making Shawn feel hesitant to belief that it really happened. He wonders if it is a possibility that Tom Cruise and his organization can put thoughts into his head such as these. Shawn won't rule it out yet.

He follows them down the staircase, outside the building and into the waiting vehicle in the parking lot. They have a driver who has been waiting for them, smoking a cigar and listening to Luke Bryan on the radio. Tom Cruise raises his eyebrows at this man but climbs easily into the passenger seat. His partner heaves Graham into the back and restrains him with some type of rope. Shawn eyes the exchange warily, seeing himself mirrored in this moment. He buckles his seat belt before anyone notices the haunted look in his eyes.

When they get back to the building, Shawn walks freely to his room after the attendant buzzes open his door. He grabs his book and then goes to the courtyard. He sits on the pavement while a woman that usually brings his food poses as his chaperone. He brings his knees to his chest and struggles to breathe. He had watched as they dragged Graham away to a separate room, complete with restraints, same as Shawn's. He can't help but feel like he has disappointed not just himself, but people like his father and Gus, those that know him and who he stands for. The guilt is innumerably worse when he thinks of how he will never see either of them again.

He smokes another cigarette while lying on his back and idly flips through his book. Tom Cruise has been allowing him lately to pick what he wants for dinner. He thinks of all the foods he used to love, like jerk chicken. He remembers the time he and Gus had stayed up all night to work on a case and had gotten a dozen donuts from Krispy Kreme at 5AM. The memory eases his hunger away.

Moments later, Tom Cruise steps outside, straightening his tie. He looks down at the psychic and asks, "Tired?"

Shawn doesn't respond.

"Well, get plenty of rest tonight," Tom Cruise says, looking out across the courtyard. "We're going to go out and do this again tomorrow."

Shawn is angry. He doesn't want to do this but he feels like he is boxed in. He cannot keep putting innocent people into captivity. He also cannot let himself die over this. Tom Cruise knows this as well which is why he looks at him with a gleam in his eyes and an upward curl of his lips. Shawn knows each decision he will make. _Shawn says no and watches as Tom Cruise lunges at him with an attendant helping to hold down his arms. Shawn is unable to access his excessive physical strength, drained from the day's work. He is helpless as he watches the needle plunge into his arm. He feels his body as it gets restless, as it shakes and trembles until he feels as if his heart will not be able to handle the strain. He will die._

Tom Cruise looks at him knowingly. His every expression is menacing. He knows what Shawn has seen, no doubt.

Shawn stares back wordlessly.

Finally, Tom Cruise chuckles and walks back to the door, leaving Shawn lying on the ground and staring upward at the clouds.

* * *

That morning, Henry, Gus and Peter walk up to the entrance of the SBPD. They stand three abreast, each looking at the impassive building with a sense of trepidation and determination. This is not going to be an easy task. It will take a lot of creative thinking and investigating – something the SBPD is known for. Still, Henry has a cold feeling in his stomach. He wants to believe that everything will work out. Normally, in situations like these, whenever Shawn vaulted himself into danger with no regard for the outcome, Henry would be angry. He didn't like to let himself worry; anger was an easier emotion to access. In the end, Shawn was always okay. However, there was always a slim chance that it would be the one time that everything didn't work out. Henry worries that they have run out of chances.

Nevertheless, he leads the group up the stone steps and into the building. The security guard recognizes him and waves him ahead, casting suspicious eyes at Peter.

At every corner, Henry is greeted by various members of the SBPD. He is as cordial as he can be; he hasn't worked at the department as a detective in a few months. He'd taken a leave of absence when Shawn had disappeared. Karen had let him know that he could take all the time he needed but now Henry feels more than ready. He walks into the main area of desks – a cluster of beat cops and detectives – and can see that Juliet and Lassiter are in Chief Vick's office.

Henry looks over at Gus who looks at Peter. They each slowly nod. Henry takes the lead while Peter's hand clenches around the handle of his briefcase. He had brought it to show the information he has. He can't help but feel nervous that they are in a police station and about to talk to the chief. Henry and Gus are acting as if this is old hat but Peter has been elbow-deep in blood in the ER before and this is still somehow more frightening.

Henry does not knock at Chief Vick's door. He simply swings it open and gestures for Peter and Gus to step in ahead of him. Standing at her desk, Chief Vick's mouth opens in surprise but Henry holds up a hand and says simply, "We need to talk."

Peter grips his briefcase tightly.

Chief Vick looks over at Lassiter and Juliet who are standing at a corkboard littered with photos and a sundry mix of evidence for a current case. Their expressions do not convey concern so Chief Vick gestures for Henry to sit in the Cherrywood chair in front of her.

Henry sits down and crosses his arms. "My son has been taken," he says with no preamble.

"What?" Juliet asks, stepping closer to the group.

"Shawn? How? Why?" Chief Vick reaches for a notepad.

"Does this have to do with his disappearance?" Juliet questions.

"It's going to sound strange," Peter steps forward, snapping his briefcase open, "and maybe you won't believe us."

"But you'll have to," Gus adds, standing by Peter's side. "For Shawn's sake."

Chief Vick looks at Peter and then Gus with trepidation. She folds her hands together on the desk, seemingly bracing herself.

Finally, Lassiter breaks the silence. He says, "Go ahead," to Henry.

Exhaling a heavy sigh, Henry places his palms on his temples. His head feels like it is bursting with information. "You all know that Shawn disappeared about four months ago," he begins.

Chief Vick nods.

"At first," Henry shifts in his seat. "I'll admit I thought he had left of his own volition. Shawn always liked new places. He used to be pretty nomadic when he was younger."

Gus almost smirks at the memory of the walls of his college dorm being covered with postcards of various places that Shawn had sent him.

"But then we realized," Henry gestures to both Gus and Peter, "that Shawn hadn't left - at least not voluntarily. There were some things he left behind that he wouldn't leave without-"

"His Psych iPod," Gus interjects.

"His Ugg boots," Peter snorts.

"There's a Psych iPod?" Juliet asks.

"They make men's Uggs?" Lassiter questions.

Henry continues, "So then I went to Gus, who decided to call Peter and we pieced some information together that…I'll admit doesn't make a lot of sense."

"We'll have to back up for it to make sense," Peter cuts in. "I need to explain why Shawn has disappeared in the first place, not just how."

Chief Vick looks seriously at the doctor in front of her and can't believe the atmosphere in the room; it is so unlike anything she has felt before. "Go ahead," she says.

Peter awkwardly touches his chin and then his wrist, not sure how he should begin. He has had many experiences with patients and parents but this is an extreme case of unfamiliar territory. "I'm not sure you will all remember," he says, "but there was a severe storm a few months ago. Many people lost power and there were a few car accidents."

"One of the biggest storms Santa Barbara has seen," Juliet seconds.

"Yes, well," Peter sets the briefcase onto the floor. "I was on the road that night and I couldn't see that clearly. I nearly hit a man on a motorcycle. This man was Shawn. I got out of my car and he got up off his bike. I asked him if he was alright and that's when the lightning struck."

Juliet is visibly upset. She turns to Lassiter but the older man doesn't move.

"I ran right over," Peter continues, "and Shawn wasn't responding. I called an ambulance and was attempting to do CPR right up until the paramedics got there."

"And then?" Juliet asks.

"They took him to the hospital and I drove my truck," Peter continues, voice going thick. "When he arrived to the hospital, they did everything they could but…"

Henry, in agitation, rubs a spot on his wrist.

"He was pronounced dead," Peter says finally, voice loud on the word 'dead', "but then something strange happened. A few moments later, Shawn rose up off the stretcher, perfectly fine. The doctors couldn't believe it; there wasn't a mark on him, no scratches or burns. It was like he had never been electrocuted at all."

"He never told me," Henry cuts in. "Not until the… _abilities_ started showing through."

"Abilities?" Lassiter asks.

Peter nods. "Shawn began to exhibit a sort of hyper-sensitivity. He was able to hear and see from far distances, gain a new sense of agility, exert massive amounts of strength and heal at an alarmingly-fast rate."

Chief Vick's expression stills. "What is your name?" she asks the doctor standing in front of her.

"Peter, ma'am," the man says nervously.

"Peter, do you take me for a fool?"

Peter shakes his head quickly. "No – listen, ma'am, Chief, I had never seen these types of abilities before. It was something Shawn approached me with because he was concerned for his health and was not sure if he was making it up in his mind."

"And you think he wasn't making it up?"

"He definitely wasn't," Henry says gruffly. "I watched him spit a bullet out of his body."

"What?!" Juliet gasps.

Peter holds up a hand. "Henry, please," he reaches for his briefcase and pulls out Shawn's medical records which he then splays before Chief Vick. "Here," he says, pointing to a document. "This is a list of every exam I gave Shawn."

Chief Vick allows Juliet and Lassiter to peek at the documents while Peter continues his explanation.

"I ran every test I could possibly think of," Peter says, "and in nearly every one, Shawn was an anomaly. He could hear conversations being held in the downstairs lobby and see who was getting coffee at a Starbucks miles away. At one point he demonstrated his healing ability and it took only seconds for a laceration on his hand to close."

"The lightning gave him superpowers," Gus says bluntly.

Lassiter rolls his eyes. "You expect us to believe this? How do you know that Spencer didn't cook this all up as some kind of twisted joke?"

Henry meets the head detective with a serious gaze. "Carlton, believe me, I wish this was a joke."

"So Shawn told me after he spoke with Peter," Gus says. "That was when the bank robbery happened and we got caught up in it. Shawn got too close to the action, he was…mouthing off. Being Shawn. One of the guys shot him." Gus pauses, eyes shining. "I tried to…resuscitate him but I didn't think…" he clears his throat. "Henry showed up and that was when Shawn coughed the bullet out into his hand."

Henry is looking down at the floor. "It was…horrifying," he admits. "Shawn hadn't yet told me that he had these…abilities. It was definitely a shock."

"We gave a good story to the police," Gus fills in. "It was suspicious and didn't really make sense but we were in a rush to get Shawn to Peter. We wanted to make sure that he was okay."

"And he was," Peter states. "Quite healthy, in fact."

"Everything seemed to settle down after that," Henry says. "Gus, Peter and I kept a close eye on him. Shawn stayed with me for a few days."

"That's when Shawn came to me and confided that his abilities had lessened, even disappeared," Peter says. "I assumed that what had coursed through him after the lightning struck had run its course. Shawn was now an average man. Or so we thought."

"Soon after that," Gus fills in, "Shawn came to me thinking he was crazy again. He was having…visions."

"But Shawn is psychic," Juliet says, looking from Gus to Chief Vick. "Right?"

Chief Vick looks at Henry who gestures for her to speak.

"Henry let me know many years ago that that was a… _persona_ Shawn was putting on," Chief Vick says gently. "He was never actually psychic. I let him have his fun because he seemed to help us out greatly with cases and it didn't hurt much."

"I knew it!" Lassiter clenches his fist.

Juliet, however, looks devastated. "It was all a lie?" she asks forlornly.

Gus holds out his hands in a placating gesture. "Juliet, hear me out," he says. "Shawn hadn't been psychic before. That, I can admit. However, once the 'old' powers went away and these new ones started showing up…everything he had pretended to be came true."

"He was having visions, able to see spirits, that whole thing," Henry says dismissively. "The point is, Shawn was developing these abnormal abilities and someone took notice."

"Someone took notice?" Chief Vick echoes. "What does that mean?"

Peter reaches for his briefcase again and hands Chief Vick a new folder. "It's an organization I only just started learning about. They track down people with abilities and keep them for their own personal use. Some stay with the organization…others do not make it that far."

"What are you saying?" Juliet demands, voice indicating that she fears the worst.

"We don't think he's dead," Peter says. "At least, we hope that is not the case. What we think happened is that Shawn noticed people were following his moves. He left, to what we think is New York City and eventually got caught."

Juliet's hand covers her mouth.

"Shawn's abilities are very rare," Peter says, "from what I can gather. I have heard of cases of people with strange abilities but never one like Shawn's. It's very…advanced. This organization will want to use him and have him track down others. He will be able to – that's one of his strengths."

"We need to find him," Henry says with determination. "We need to go to New York and find my son."

Chief Vick rests her head on her palms. A ton of information was just given to her and she is not sure how to react. Eventually, she raises her head and speaks calmly and rationally, "Henry, I need to take stock of this whole…story before I can even think to call the NYPD with this information. For all we know, they won't believe a word of what I say to them."

Henry's nostrils flare as he rises from his chair. "Karen, why the hell would I be making this up?" he demands. He gestures to Gus and Peter, "We've been working for weeks to parse this all out. My son is somewhere out there! At least…" Henry gulps. He doesn't say what the others are thinking. "I need to act on this quickly; there is no other way."

Karen holds up her palms in a kind of surrender. "Yes, Henry, I am aware you are concerned for Shawn. We all are. You know there is a protocol to follow for things like these. We can't just fly to New York and bust the doors down with a spray of bullets!"

"And why the hell not?!" Henry points a finger at her. "I know damn well you'd do it for anyone else on this force."

Karen's expression doesn't shift. "I'd do it within the right constructs. I've got to make calls, to round up officers. I want to understand what is going on, Henry, but honestly I just feel confused by everything you have said today."

Lassiter cuts in with a derisive, "You expect us to believe that not only was Shawn struck by lightning and seemingly fine, he also got super powers? Then when those super powers went away, he got new ones? Then you want us to believe that not only is he _actually_ psychic, he also got discovered by an organization that likes to capture people like him? And now he is stuck in New York City, where we need to go rescue him?"

"Yes," Henry, Gus and Peter say in unison.

Juliet looks from Chief to Lassiter to Henry in confusion.

"Henry, you know I have to follow protocol," Chief Vick says gently. "I promise that as soon as I hear back from the officers in New York, we can make our move."

Slowly, Henry shakes his head. He feels like several different thoughts are vying for attention in his mind and he can only grasp one at a time coherently. He glances at Gus, who is visibly upset, looking more betrayed than angry and then at Peter, who is anxiously yanking at the handle of his briefcase. These two men had offered to dive into this full-force with him. They had promised each other they would never give up on bringing back Shawn back. So what the hell do they need the SBPD for?

Henry looks at Karen, her expression a mixture of pity and serenity. She is rational when she has to be and ordinarily Henry would admire her for it. Obviously, today is different.

"Do whatever the hell you want," he says, his back turning to the three of them. Gus and Peter flank his sides immediately. "I'm going to find my son."

* * *

Like the cast of _Ocean's Eleven_ saunters onto a scene, Henry, Gus and Peter walk through the doors of the airport with slight trepidation but their body language is all confidence. Henry grips his airline ticket with something akin to a smirk and Gus is nodding to himself, body thrumming with the energy that only comes with going through cases for the SBPD. Peter stands to his right, hand anxiously drumming a beat against his thigh. Despite it all, they are more than ready for this. Henry has packed away what they will need. Gus has retrieved the exact location of the building Shawn is in. Peter is bringing with him the medical supplies he has surmised that Shawn will undoubtedly need.

They board the plane in a haze of tickets and snacks and Gus holding onto Henry's arm like an anchor. Peter takes the seat in front of them and peruses his notes and Shawn's medical history for the next few hours. Henry agitatedly volleys from looking out the window to looking down at a photo he'd pilfered from Shawn's apartment: one of only a few of him and his son from the past year. Shawn's grin is big and full of teeth while only the corner of Henry's lip is upturned into something like a smirk. Henry wonders if, had he known back then that it'd be the last photo he'd have of them, maybe he would have actually fucking smiled.

Gus doesn't do much on the flight other than stare straight ahead and Henry knows that it is hard for him, too. He and Shawn had a business together. It kept Gus from feeling too disheartened by the corporate world his pharmaceutical job was in. When Shawn disappeared, Gus had to go back to being, well, normal. It was unbelievably boring, when you got down to it.

When they are only half an hour away from touching down, Henry braces himself. He doesn't want to even fathom the possibility that Shawn is no longer alive. However, if that is the case he must not delude himself. He can't walk in swelled up with hope; it'll dissolve him if Shawn is gone. Henry will pretend that he can go through this without clutching onto the desperation that has constructed his being for the last few months. The thing he braces for is the inevitable devastation that will ensue if his son has been taken away from him. Nevertheless, though it is unlike him, hope wins out. He stares through the window and envisions the reunion he will undoubtedly have with his son and the men he will take down to morph that fantasy into reality.

Henry, Gus and Peter didn't pack any bags – they only took what they had so they walk through the airport after their plane lands, searching for a taxi. Peter successfully hails one (having been to New York and familiar with its atmosphere) and Henry sits between the two men. They go over their plan.

"So the building is in Queens," Gus says, pulling a folded-up map of the NYC borough. His finger traces a path. "It's off a path that used to be pretty prosperous but now there's not much there. Peter's friend Owen was able to figure out that most of the people that 'work' for this organization park in an underground garage that has minimal security."

"A seventy-six year old security guard that loves _Seinfeld_ almost as much as he hates security," Peter pipes up.

Henry nods. "So we pull in with the taxi,"

"He waves us through," Gus interjects.

"We park but there's still the second entrance to get through," Peter says. "We need an ID card." He rummages in his jacket pocket and displays a sleek card with another man's face on it. "Owen was able to fake this for me. With any luck, it'll work and we'll be in."

"From there…" Henry sighs. "We don't have much planned." The vision he has of the three of them standing inside the building fades away and he is back to staring ahead at the air freshener dangling from the taxicab's rearview mirror.

"We don't have any weapons, either," Peter says.

Gus looks uneasy. "Will they have guns?"

"Most probably won't," Peter replies, handing him a sheet of paper. "Owen and I have been researching more of the finer details about the organization. Most of the people working carry tranquilizers only."

"Great," Henry rubs a palm over his eye. "We should have thought this through." Desolation curdles in his stomach. Are they over before they even began?

There is a pause, a pocket of silence in which each man seems contemplative. Finally, Gus blurts, "Shawn wouldn't have thought it through."

Henry lifts his head.

"He would have burst into the place, mouthing off, arms flying everywhere," Gus continues. "He wouldn't give a damn. Shawn never thought anything through which was why he always came out on top. Because thinking too much about something made him falter. He was his best when he was spontaneous."

Henry nods firmly. "You're right," he says.

"Then we do it Shawn's way," Peter says determinedly.

"Shawn's way," Gus seconds.

Eventually, after four different taxi rides, Henry, Gus and Peter arrive at the old shoe factory building. It looks vacant but they know otherwise. They instruct the taxi driver to pull up to the window and the security guard at the makeshift desk waves them along without looking up from his television.

"That was easy," Gus remarks quietly.

"Too easy," Peter whispers.

They climb out of the taxi and with trepidation they walk up to the entrance. Peter lifts his ID up to the scanner. It flashes once and then makes an unfortunate sound.

"Shit," the doctor curses. "It doesn't work."

Gus turns to Henry, eyes blown wide with panic. "What do we do?"

Nearby, a man in a lab coat walks by, whistling while he swings a set of keys. He pauses, noticing Henry, Gus and Peter standing at the glass door. His expression hardens. "Excuse me," he calls. "Who are you?" his hand reaches for something in his pocket and Henry acts.

"We think spontaneously, Gus," he answers the man's previous question before stepping forward and twisting the man's wrist so that he drops the cell phone in his hand.

"Hey!" the man swings at Henry but Henry steps aside and then lunges, pushing the man forwards into a nearby pillar. His head connects with the cement and he collapses onto the ground, unconscious. Henry drops down to the pavement and unclips the identification card from the man's breast pocket. He turns to see Gus and Peter gaping at him.

"He's just unconscious," Henry says in exasperation. He swipes the ID card and they quickly move inside.

* * *

Shawn is outside when the commotion starts. He's sitting on the pavement with the security guard, a woman, and they are both looking through People magazine. Shawn is looking because he wants to keep in touch with the outside world while Tina, the guard, is looking to catch glimpses of Chris Hemsworth. They both startle as an alarm sounds from speakers planted nearby.

Tina quickly scrambles to get up and reaches for the Taser strapped to her belt. She looks down at Shawn and then back at the mess of people running in the hallways.

"What's going on?" Shawn demands.

Tina hesitates. She isn't technically allowed to give the psychic any type of information. However, they have formed a close friendship and she feels she can trust the man. "It's the alarm for when an intruder is in the building."

Shawn suddenly brings a hand to his head. The information rushes to him like a cold freeze. "Holy shit," he gasps out.

"What? What is it?" Tina asks urgently. "Do you need your medication?"

Shawn shakes his head. He knows what is going on. He wonders why he hadn't seen it before, hadn't _felt_ it. "I'll stay here," he says eventually. "You can go on ahead."

"Are you sure?" Tina isn't supposed to do this and Shawn knows that. That's why he offered.

Shawn nods. "I'll stay here." He lifts up the magazine. "I'll let you know if I spot 'ol Chris."

Tina smirks. "Here," she tosses him a Taser, a second one she had clipped to her belt. "Stay safe."

Shawn can't believe his luck. "You got it," he says before pretending to be engrossed in the magazine on his lap. Once Tina has departed and been gone for enough amount of time, Shawn slowly rises up off the ground and cracks open the door to the inside. The hallways in front of him on his left and right are vacant but he can hear a commotion coming from the one on the right. Quickly, he runs down the left hallway, Taser down by his hip as he passes a familiar room with a window.

The man in the small room looks up from the cot he is sitting cross-legged on and smirks. Shawn smiles conspiratorially and quickly punches in the code on the wall that he had taken days before from Tina's special book she also kept strapped to her belt.

"Holy shit," the man gasps out, clasping Shawn's hand. "It's a pleasure…Psychic."

Shawn nods. "Ryan, you remember what we talked about?"

"Plan A or B?"

Shawn smirks. "B."

At that moment, a security guard standing down the hall spots the two men and pulls out a tranquilizer gun. Shawn has never been in a situation dire enough to be shot by one; he'd always been close enough to get injected.

Shawn reaches into his pocket, pulls out the lighter Tom Cruise had given him ( _idiot_ ) and tosses it to Ryan who grasps it, flicking the switch and blowing at the flame. It burns high and bright before barreling in a cylindrical shape towards the guard, a mass of flames that grow in size and threaten to overtake the man at the end of the hall. The heat makes Shawn cover his eyes with his arm.

"Holy shit," the guard curses before running in the opposite direction, shoes squeaking against the floor. The swelling flames seem to stutter and evaporate before they reach the far wall, a faint scorching appearing on the floor.

"Damn," Ryan says. "I'm a little rusty."

"No," Shawn argues, eyes shining with hope. "That was perfect."

* * *

Henry, Gus and Peter split up. Well, after a few diversions. Firstly, Henry has to accost another man and this time he has a gun, which he takes for himself. The Taser he hands to Peter, who nervously pinches it between two fingers and asks between grit teeth, "Do I really have to?"

"Are you trained in any hand-on-hand combat?" Henry asks him.

Peter shakes his head.

"Ever been in a fight?"

He shakes his head again.

"Keep the Taser," Henry instructs. He turns to Gus. "We need a gun for you." Before he does anything else, Henry aims at the three cameras tracking their moments and shoots. Seconds later, the alarms sound.

"Shit," Henry hisses. "Alright, Gus, stay with me. Peter!"

The doctor looks up nervously. "Yeah?"

"Can you make it on your own?"

Peter swallows. He's never had to do anything like this before. The last terrifying thing he did was take his board exams. Despite the fear, however, there is a current of determination within himself. They are here for an innocent man, one who has abilities he has never seen in any other person. This man needs their help. And they are the only three that can. Christ. "Yes," Peter says finally, holding up the Taser as if that proves he will be okay. "I'll go this way," he points to the left.

"Alright, Gus," Henry gestures for the man to follow him and the group splits up. Henry and Gus slide along against the wall in the opposite direction of Peter. They pass a bank of rooms with people inside, some on beds, some on floors, some pacing, others shouting.

"My God," Gus whispers, eyes scanning desperately for his best friend.

"Shit," Henry says as a security guard quickly approaches them. This one has a gun. He raises his arm and his finger presses against the trigger. Henry yanks Gus back behind him, behind a pillar as bullets spray the floor and ceiling.

"Mr. Spencer," Gus gasps out, not sure what to do. He is the only man on this mission without a damn thing to protect himself. Henry looks at the younger man, his son's best friend and thinks, _we are not giving up_. He firmly grasps the gun in his hand and swings his arm out wildly, finger pulling against the trigger as half of his face is shielded by the pillar. He aims for the guard's shoulder or arm, something non-lethal. He wants to get to his son and he knows this is ridiculous, that they will undoubtedly create chaos where they shouldn't have and they'll have the SBPD trailing them behind with handcuffs at the ready but goddamn it if Henry will give up _now_.

Surprisingly, Henry manages to clip the guard in the shoulder. He scrambles over to the man, whose eyes are clenched tightly in pain. Quickly, he wrestles the gun out of his hands and tosses it to Gus, who catches it with a gleam in his eyes that Henry is almost taken aback by.

"Let's go find Shawn," Gus says.

* * *

Peter is so fucking terrified. Sure, he had put on a brave face a few seconds ago but he hadn't _meant_ it, for Christ's sakes. Henry had looked so steely and Gus so calm that Peter hadn't thought acting totally discombobulated would help anybody.

So here he is, running away from the chaos and the gunshots and the shouting. He passes room after room, some empty with various instruments inside, others with people, some looking languid and others angry and determined, their bodies flat against the windows, watching him.

That's when Peter spots Shawn and another man at the end of the hallway, punching a code into one of the keypads leading to a small room. A woman stumbles out, hand to her head and Shawn puts a reassuring hand on her shoulder. The group of three look up and notice him. Peter notes that Shawn's expression doesn't shift at the sight of him.

"Shawn!" Peter says, lowering the Taser to his side. He strides over to the man but before he can get any closer, the man at his side holds up his hand, a small sphere of fire twisting and glowing in his palm. "Don't get any closer," he warns.

"Shawn…" Peter falters, looking at the man, not sure of what is happening. The longer he looks, the more astounded he is. Shawn looks completely different than the man he met a few months ago; he is skinny, so much so that he is almost gaunt. His skin has an unhealthy pallor and his eyes are hard, as if he can look through him. He smells like something medicinal and stale cigarettes. His grip on his own Taser is faltering. He can't seem to focus; his eyes flit from the ceiling, to the floor and then to a woman in another room. Peter can only assume that the organization has had him on a bevy of medication. He has something in his messenger bag that will help Shawn come down from this high, but first he needs to get close enough.

Peter steps forward but the man holding the fire brings it even closer, enough that Peter can feel his skin warming.

Peter puts the Taser down onto the ground as a declaration of his loyalty. "I'm here to help you," he says. "We need to get you out of here; it's not safe."

Shawn scoffs loudly but doesn't move. He looks to the two beside him and they seem about to run away, Shawn's sneakers lifting off the floor when a voice shouts in desperation, "Shawn?!"

* * *

Henry can't believe it. After all these months, all the researching and planning, the desperate calls to various hospitals around the country. All this time Shawn has been here, locked away in this building and Henry is here, with a gun in his hand and a tinny taste in his mouth, like he just had a revelation so large that it's disorienting him.

"Shawn," he calls out, running to his son and embracing him. He can practically feel the kid's bones; he's so thin. He'll have to get him to eat once they get out to Santa Barbara. Shawn will probably insist on staying at his own place but Henry won't allow it. He won't let the kid out of his sight.

Henry is too caught up in his exaltation to notice that Shawn does not hug him back. He pulls away to see his son with an unfortunate expression. He looks…angry.

"Henry," Peter says, from a few feet away. He is crouched down towards the floor, slowly reaching for his Taser.

"What?" Henry looks from his son and back to the doctor. "What's going on? Shawn, are you okay?"

Finally, his son's expression twists and his eyes darken as he demands, "How do you know my name?"

Something drops in Henry's stomach. His world tightens to this one person, his son, who is looking at him like he's his worst enemy. "I…" he cannot find the words.

Shawn looks the detective up and down, like he could be anyone. "Listen, I don't know who the hell you people are," he point his Taser at Peter, Henry and Gus. "But you need to get out of here."

"Shawn?" Gus steps closer to him. "You know who we are. We're best friends."

Shawn laughs mirthlessly. "I don't have any friends." He can see a man stepping out of the shadows of the adjacent hallway. In a fit of anger, he hisses, "Get the hell out of here, alright? I don't know who you people are but you clearly have caused enough of a problem here today."

"Shawn, we're not leaving without you," Henry reaches forward and grasps Shawn's wrist and in a flash, he jerks away, shoulder wrenching up so high it practically touches his ear. He swivels away from the man while another steps to protect him, a blazing fire contained in his hand. He pushes it toward the group and Peter dives to the floor while Gus moves aside, yanking Henry with him. The fire seems to fill up every available surface and Gus grits his teeth from the intensity. Henry makes to cover the younger man but Gus wriggles free, racing back to his friend.

"Shawn, please," he says, placing the gun in his back pocket, both hands up in surrender. "We came here to save you. You've been missing for months. You don't belong here."

Shawn shakes his head resolutely. "I don't even know if that's true," he says in a whisper, looking up at Gus like he almost believes he deserves to be punished in one of the worst ways possible. This makes something in Gus twist and knot uncomfortably.

"Oh, Shawn," is all Gus can think to say. He reaches for him again but Shawn steps back and says, "If you people really are you who say you are, why didn't you come get me long ago? Why didn't you get me when I was being water boarded?"

Henry covers his mouth in disbelief.

"Or how about maybe when I was being injected with so many drugs, I couldn't see for days?" Shawn demands, face reddening. "Why didn't you come get me when I was forced to capture another person with abilities? But oh, little Shawn couldn't do it! He was too fucking weak! He let the guy go. And what did these… _wonderful_ people of the organization do?" Shawn demands. "Nearly killed me. Starved me, beat me and told me that no one was ever going to come save me. And you know what?" he points the Taser at Henry and Gus. "They were right."

Henry gasps out something that sounds like a sob but his eyes aren't moist. He looks at his son and wishes he had been able to get here sooner. If only he hadn't had to look into those hazel eyes and see nothing within them. Shawn isn't looking at him with any recognition. His mouth isn't turning up into a smirk and he certainly isn't joking about how the horrible the food has been here. He doesn't want to be saved. He won't even look at him.

At that moment, Henry notices the man slowly approaching them, gun outstretched. He wants to stay with his son, damn it, he only just found him.

"I'm sorry," Henry says in practically a whisper. "I'm sorry that I wasn't able to get to you but I'm here now. I don't want to leave you here; you don't belong here. You're my son and I…" his mouth dries at the end, at the three words that have never before been expelled, at least not without tremendous effort. "I…" at that moment, a gunshot erupts and Henry ducks with Gus and somehow Peter makes it over to them in the haze and he grabs Henry by his shirt, screaming into his ear, "We have to _go_!"

Henry is yanked back by Gus, who fires a shot or two back at the man who is now coming into the light, his features known. Henry fights to move his way forward but Gus's grip is determined and the last thing Henry thinks before he turns the corner is, _that man looks remarkably like Tom Cruise_.

* * *

Shawn watches as Henry is dragged away with his two friends and he turns around, face to face with Tom Cruise.

"You sent them away," Tom Cruise says, lowering his gun. He looks impressed.

Shawn shrugs. "They are not my family," he says by way of explanation.

Tom Cruise grins. "You know, I'd always hoped you'd say that eventually." He claps Shawn on the shoulder and looks at the two people standing next to Shawn with something akin to disdain. He looks as if he is about to speak but Shawn asks,

"You know what I always hoped I'd get to do?"

Tom Cruise's eyebrows lift questionably.

Shawn is standing directly in front of Tom Cruise, his captor close enough that he can smell the gum he's chewing. He has the perfect opportunity to do what he has strategized for all these months. "This," he finally says, elbowing the man hard in the sternum before then stomping onto his foot and bringing a knee up to his groin. Tom Cruise stumbles back, surprised by the blows he has just received, perhaps he had been lead into a false sense of belief that Shawn had been on his side.

How wrong he was. Shawn grabs the gun but he won't shoot him, no – he only needs a quick escape. He grapples for his Taser and shoots it at the man. Instantly, he crumples onto the ground and spasms, his entire body twitching.

Shawn looks at Ryan and Tracy. "Guys, here," he shoves a list of codes into Ryan's hands. "Get as many people out as you can. I've got to go do something real quick but we meet back up in the center like we planned. Got it?" the two nod. "Alright, let's do this."

* * *

Henry, Peter and Gus barely make it to a vacant room before Gus pushes them inside, panting from the exertion. He just fired a _gun_. A _gun_. He used to want to vomit at the sight of them and here he is holding one like he has all his life. Henry is coming apart at the seams, staring into space and repeating, "Shawn," over and over while Peter is anxiously gripping the Taser in his hand. Gus has never felt so terrified and calm at the same time.

"What are we doing?" Peter asks finally. "Shouldn't we make a break for it?"

Gus shakes his head. "Look at him," he gestures to Henry, who is mumbling to himself. "We can't leave without Shawn."

Peter shakes his head. "You heard him back there. I think they really did a number on him. I don't know if the kid will make it back from something like this. I mean, I've heard of brainwashing but that…it's like they just _took_ all of who he used to be."

Gus doesn't believe it. "Shawn is different," he argues. "He wouldn't let that happen. He would hold on."

"Gus," Peter says gently, "I have seen many cases like this. People like this…they can transform others. They ruin lives. It's what they do."

"I'm not…" Gus pauses, choosing his words carefully. "I'm not leaving. We came all this way. We can't just _give up_."

Peter paces the floor anxiously. "If there is any chance that Shawn is actually in there and I mean _any_ chance, we have to get him out of here as soon as possible." He exhales a sigh. "I'm in."

"You always were," Gus reminds him. He looks to Henry who nods with finality.

At that moment, the door to the room swings open and Shawn is standing at the threshold, gun in his hand but he is pointing it towards the floor. His expression is the same as it was before: angry and determined, eyes gleaming with something akin to disdain.

Gus is apprehensive to approach him with a gun in his hand and Shawn with one in his. Who would have thought they would ever face each other in this way?

Suddenly, Shawn's face twists into something else – he looks like he is…happy? The psychic's eyes brighten and a smile spreads across his expression. He shoves his gun into the back pocket of his jeans and looks at Henry, Gus and Peter happily. "Aw, come on," he says, arms splaying out from his sides. "You guys didn't think I would forget you, did you?"


	4. Chapter 4

**Author's Note: HEY, IT'S THE FINALE. Thanks everybody for reading/favoriting/reviewing! I appreciate it. Have a Merry Christmas or not if you don't celebrate. See you all next time**

* * *

"Goddamn it," Henry gasps out before lunging forward and enveloping his son in a hug. Shawn embraces him back this time, squeezing so tight that Henry can feel the pressure on his ribs. He gives his son an evaluating look, this time able to see scars on his arms and a general tremor that wracks his body every couple of seconds. Henry is nervous as to what this means. He hopes that Peter can help him when and if they make it out of this place.

"Are you okay?" Henry asks, knowing it's a stupid question.

Shawn gives him a wry smile, "There's a helluva lot wrong with me right now, dad but…" he looks at Peter, Gus and then back at his father, "I think I'll be alright."

Gus reaches forward and hugs him too. "I'm glad we got to you," he says. Shawn looks at him and his expression says enough for Gus to know what he would say.

"So," Shawn swivels around to Peter. "You came all this way, huh?"

Peter's face is solemn; perhaps he thinks Shawn will come at him again. "I came to help," he says honestly.

Shawn claps him on the shoulder and Peter winces. Shawn smirks. "I'm glad you're on board," he says.

Henry can't help himself; he has to ask. "What the hell was that back there?"

"I saw Tom Cruise coming." Shawn says, as if that makes sense.

"Tom Cruise?" Gus echoes.

"The boss, the guy who monitors all the patients, he looks like Tom Cruise," Shawn says hastily. "I saw him coming and I knew he'd shoot you guys if I acted like I was happy to see you. I had to pretend like it had worked."

"Pretend like what had worked?" Henry demands fearfully.

Shawn looks from Henry, to the floor and then to Peter, who he knows will know what Shawn is referencing. "Wait," he holds up a hand suddenly to his forehead as he lunges forward.

"Shawn!" Henry makes to catch him but the psychic lifts himself up and stares at his father with haunted eyes. "Someone's coming," he says breathlessly before reaching for the Taser in his pocket and swinging the door open.

"Wait," Gus reaches for his gun, determined not to let Shawn go out alone but seconds later they can hear the whine of the Taser and a strangled shout as a man collapses onto the ground.

"Shawn!" Henry shouts, jumping out of the room but when he turns he can see Shawn crouched over a man, panting. He looks up at his father and Henry resists the urge to shudder. His son's eyes are dark and his stance determined. It is almost like he has done this many times before, fighting to emerge the victor, the survivor. With a twist in his gut, Henry realizes that this is probably true.

"Come on," Shawn says urgently, snapping into an upright position. He tosses the gun he had snatched from the guard to Peter. "There's more." Staring at the pathway in front of him, there is nothing but if Shawn focuses, he can see one hundred and twenty seconds into the hazy future, where a group of three men, accompanied by the suppressant one, will charge them with both Tasers and guns.

"Shit," Shawn turns to his father. "We won't make it. We'll have to do this differently."

Henry has to pause and watch as his son processes these images. He had molded Shawn into being a man that could decipher the clues faster than any revered detective. By the age of ten, Shawn had been able to walk into a room and tell Henry within seven seconds what number of people were wearing brown shoes. He had always been talented but now he is something else entirely.

"What happens?" Henry asks, wanting desperately to know what images are colliding in Shawn's head. His son looks hesitant but finally says, "There's a man they keep here that when he is close enough, your powers don't work anymore. If I can't see what's about to happen, we won't get out."

"Which way is he coming from?"

Shawn points to a hallway behind them.

Henry sighs and forces himself to say this next, "Let's split up."

Fear swims in Shawn's eyes. "What?"

"You need to stay sharp," Henry says, "Peter and I can handle ourselves. You and Gus make your way out of here. Find a safe place. We'll come to you."

"But, dad…" Shawn whispers. He doesn't say what they are both thinking.

"It'll be okay," Henry says, embracing his son quickly. He pulls away and then halfheartedly winks. "Or at least, you'll tell me so, right?"

Shawn smiles nervously. "Good luck, Pop," he says before he signals to Gus and they run in the opposite direction. Shawn halts before he is out of eyesight and takes one last look at Henry. His father stands opposite Peter, gun at the ready. He notices Shawn lingering and the two men share a long look, each knowing what the other is saying.

Finally, Shawn breaks away and Henry points his gun straight ahead. "Are you ready?" he asks Peter.

* * *

Shawn leads Gus to the 'center' location, two corridors down, where Ryan and six other men and women are standing.

"I nabbed the security codes for their rooms," Shawn explains hurriedly to Gus. "If I leave, they all leave."

Gus nods. "Where do we go?"

"The parking garage," Ryan says. "We can't stay here; I've rigged the explosives."

"What?!" Gus turns to his best friend. "We can't leave your dad and Peter here!"

Shawn's eyebrows furrow together and his vision slants as he concentrates on the actions that lay ahead. In the disjointed haze, he can see Peter and Henry running towards them, looking terrified and exhilarated at the same time.

"They make it," Shawn finally says, snapping out of his stupor.

Ryan generates a flame in his hand as they make their way down the hallway and they only get a few feet closer to the exit before Shawn stops them. "There's another one, coming from the right!" he says in a shout as they all scramble to get out of the way of the bullets being fired. One of the people in their cluster, a boy, probably a teenager, turns to Shawn, "I can do this," he offers.

Gus looks on in awe at his best friend who is leading this group of people, putting hands on shoulders and embracing others. It's something he always knew that Shawn could be but seeing it now and the reason it has happened makes Gus both intrigued and melancholy at the same time.

"Are you sure?" Shawn asks the kid. He looks concerned, almost fatherly and it makes Gus reminiscent of all the looks Henry has served Shawn over the years.

"I've got it," the kid ducks out from under Shawn's arm and disappears with a glimmer.

Gus blinks in surprise.

The kid appears behind the security guard and taps him on the shoulder. The guard swivels around and the kid disappears again, glimmering into view behind him now. This goes on for a few moments, the guard pointing his gun in this direction and that one, until the kid wears him out and he stands still in confusion for a moment before the kid walks up to him from behind and knocks him over the head. He confiscates the gun and is about to slide it into his back pocket when Shawn snaps his fingers.

"Hey," he says sharply. "What are you doing?"

The kid grins at him sheepishly.

"You are way too young," Shawn chides, handing the gun off to the woman next to him.

"So what does that make you?" the kid smirks at him.

"An adult," Shawn cuffs him playfully on the back of the head. He looks to the others and says, "Let's go."

The group of nine make their way out to a parking garage and Ryan points to a large van used for transporting people like them.

"Will it fit all of us?" Gus asks.

"We'll manage."

Shawn watches as one of the women in the group closes her eyes and presses her hand against the driver's side window. Slowly, her hand sinks further and further until it has passed through the window. With her eyes still shut, she finds the lock and unlatches it. Slowly, she pulls her hand away, the window rippling as her hand passes through it.

She smiles at Shawn. "We're in," she says gleefully.

Gus turns to Shawn in shock. "Did she just…?"

"Yup," Shawn smiles proudly. "Melissa's been working on that for weeks."

"So can you walk through walls and stuff?" Gus can't help but ask.

Melissa shrugs, still smiling. "Maybe I'll show you one day."

"Ugh," Shawn groans at her flirtatious manner. "Everybody in." they all clamor into the vehicle, Gus sitting in the passenger seat. Shawn stares down at the steering wheel with determination, attempting to remember the last time he had done something like this. Seeing ahead is something Shawn now does with ease but remembering the past has become more of a strain; it comes back to him in murky flashes, wordless and disjointed.

"You ever steal a car before?"

Shawn nearly gives himself whiplash at the sound of the familiar voice. His head snaps around to see Wyatt crouched between Ryan and Melissa in one of the many backseats. He waves casually.

Shawn's face breaks into a wide grin. "Sort of," he answers Wyatt's question.

Gus turns to the psychic. "Who are you talking to?" he asks quizzically.

Shawn looks back at Wyatt who seems equally as happy to see him. "An old friend," he replies quietly.

* * *

Meanwhile, Peter and Henry have successfully avoided dying.

Peter managed to clip two guards and one doctor, trying his best not to shoot anyone in a vital place. He had never handled a gun in his entire life but Henry had breathlessly lead him through a tutorial that, condensed, basically was, "Just point and shoot." It had been disconcerting, of course, to actually _shoot people_ but before they had gotten on the plane to New York, Henry had given him an out, letting him know that what they were about to do certainly wasn't legal or even safe.

Peter hadn't hesitated. He had gotten to know Shawn and had talked with him in-depth many times about his overall duties to the public and the responsibilities he held within the SBPD. He _knew_ Shawn – perhaps not as much as Gus and definitely not as much as Henry but he had gotten to understand the man. He couldn't leave him in this hellhole; he took as a vow as a doctor to help those he could. Shawn fell under that category, certainly.

Peter and Henry eventually make their way outside and Peter spots a large van barreling towards them from the parking garage. Peter can see Shawn at the wheel.

"How the hell did he manage that?" Peter asks Henry. Henry smiles and says, "I guess he remembered what he's done before."

Peter can't ask him to elaborate on that further because the van screeches to a stop in front of them. "Hurry," Ryan shouts out from his window. "The explosives are about to go off!"

"Explosives?!" Henry looks at Shawn with panic. His son waves him inside the van and so Henry allows Peter to climb through first, making his way to the back and Henry sits between Shawn and Gus, clapping a firm hand on Shawn's shoulder. The van swings around to pull away from the building and Shawn glances at his father, spotting a crimson spatter on his shirt collar.

"Hey," he points to it, "are you okay?"

Henry looks down at it and almost laughs. "It's the other guy's."

Shawn looks up at his father with something like admiration. This is a side of Henry he sees often enough but never with this… _magnitude_. He's always known that his father cares for him, at least in his own way, and he's always been protective but this is definitely…different. Before he can open his mouth to reply, the ground shakes and the world brightens.

The explosives have gone off.

The van jerks forward as Shawn tries desperately to turn the wheel to get to a safer distance as the heat searches for purchase. The tires squeal as Shawn turns them a full three hundred and sixty degrees into a nearby vacant lot. Ryan grabs onto Gus's headrest and grits his teeth while the woman next to him shuts her eyes and mumbles something under her breath. Henry watches in fascination as a blue-green glow surrounds the vehicle.

"What's happening?" Wyatt shouts into Shawn's ear. The psychic turns around and says simply, "Force field."

The roar of the explosion is suddenly muffled, like it is happening miles away. Debris rains down and around them but never touches the car.

A few of the people inside the van clap and cheer, patting the woman on the back. Wyatt smirks and claps Shawn on the shoulder and Henry and Gus stare in awe.

Shawn looks around at everyone and smiles, relieved but he doesn't have much time to feel this way before his hand clutches at his forehead.

Henry pauses, noting that Shawn did this earlier, too. "What is it?" he asks quickly. "What do you see?"

"Behind us!" Shawn shouts.

Sure enough, a large SUV barrels out of the charred parking lot of the where the organization's building once stood.

"Shit – _drive_!" someone shouts from one of the backseats.

"Right, good idea, like I was just going to sit here," Shawn gripes as he presses his foot against the gas. The car jolts forward and everyone clamors to grab onto something solid.

"Hold on," Shawn shouts, jerking the wheel to the right as the van teeters dangerously close to the road.

"Shawn…" Wyatt says warningly from the backseat. "It's _him_."

Shawn gulps, knowing who Wyatt is referencing. Shit. "Damn, I could use a cigarette," he mutters to himself.

"What? You smoke?" Peter yelps from the backseat.

"You could kill yourself Shawn," Gus pitches in, looking concerned.

"That's it - when we get home, I'm showing you photos of blackened lungs," Henry threatens as the van jerks to the left.

"Great, just like fifth grade all over again," Shawn quips as he glances nervously in the rearview mirror. The SUV is gaining on them. Scott, the teleporter, glances out the back window and reports that yes, it is in fact the leader, Tom Cruise. Funny that Shawn never learned his name after all this time.

"Shawn…" Ryan shouts nervously as the SUV grazes the back bumper of the van.

Shawn doesn't even have time to turn around and look or mumble a curse word before the SUV slams into the back of the van. Everyone jolts forward and Ryan's head roughly hits the back of Gus's chair. Blood blooms along his hairline.

"Are you okay?" Peter lunges from the backseat to assist the younger man but the SUV reverses and slams into them again and Peter ends up falling in Henry's lap.

"Sorry," he apologizes sheepishly.

"God _damn_ it," Shawn hisses, attempting to accelerate but the van is already going as fast as it can and in a flash, he sees thirty-eight seconds ahead: _dead end_.

"We're going to have to turn around," Shawn shouts. "Everybody hold on!" he turns the van quickly, so that they are again facing the road to drive back in the direction they came. Unfortunately, the SUV had caught up. It idles in front of them and Shawn mutters, "Shit," before they crash together.

The impact of the SUV is tremendous. The woman who had created the force field earlier attempts in desperation to protect them but can only manage to shield herself, the teleporter and Peter. Ryan grabs onto Melissa and they lay on the van floor as glass shards rain down onto them. Gus grips onto the door handle and grits his teeth with exertion so that he doesn't slam it onto the dashboard. Henry is not so lucky – his entire body jerks forward because he is not sitting in a proper seat and promptly collapses backwards into Gus's lap. Shawn is miraculously the only one virtually unharmed – mostly because Wyatt climbs over from the back in the nick of time and literally shields Shawn with his body.

"Thanks, buddy," Shawn pants out, looking over at his unconscious father with worried eyes.

"He'll be okay," Wyatt assures him. "I'll make sure of it."

From the SUV, Tom Cruise wrenches open his door and collapses onto the pavement, grimacing but making deliberate eye contact with Shawn.

Melissa and Ryan peer out of the windows and say in unison, "We'll help you, Shawn."

"Yeah," the teleporter kid grins. "What's one last fight?"

Shawn smiles at the support of his friends but he shakes his head. "Sorry guys," he says, "I think I have to do this on my own."

"Are you sure?" Ryan reaches out and touches Shawn's arm. "What if he's got a gun?"

Shawn smirks. "Then I'll let him know I have one too." He pulls his out of his jacket pocket and looks over again at his father with hesitation. He has a small cut raised above his eyebrow and his eyes are shut – seemingly fine but Shawn knows that exteriors don't always display the interior issue.

"We'll protect him," the teleporter kid says, noticing Shawn's gaze.

"You know, this is kind of unfair," Wyatt complains from his spot next to Shawn. "I disappear for a little while and you go off and make a ton of new friends." He smiles to let the psychic know he is joking but a frown folds into Shawn's expression at the thought of how he acquired these new friends.

"Yeah," Shawn looks back at the men and women crowded in the van. "I did make a few friends."

"We've got your back," Melissa says and Shawn watches as Tom Cruise rights himself, leaning against his vehicle, his entire body slumped but still locking venomous eyes with him.

Shawn puts a hesitant hand on the door and finally swings it open. Tom Cruise is half-leaning, half-standing against the SUV and he cocks his gun at Shawn.

"Mr. Spencer," Tom Cruise grits between his teeth, one hand protectively held over a spot on his side. Shawn holds onto his gun but keeps it down at his side as he walks a few feet close to Tom. He can see already that Tom will try to shoot him within the next sixty-seven seconds.

"You know, I had hoped that you would turn out differently," Tom Cruise begins, staggering forwards. His face is marred by blood and a single bruise is faint along his jawline. Shawn can't believe that he made it out of the building, let alone got into a vehicle and subsequently a car crash.

"I trained you," Tom sneers, "I showed you the way and what do you do? You run away at the first chance."

Shawn resists the urge to roll his eyes. "Shame all that waterboarding didn't work."

Something gleams in Tom Cruise's eyes and he presses his finger against the trigger but Shawn kicks his leg up and knocks the handgun away. It skitters on the pavement and momentarily, Tom and Shawn stand opposite one another, panting from exertion until Shawn breaks himself away to lunge for the weapon.

Tom Cruise attempts to overpower him, hands scrabbling to wrap around his throat but Shawn's elbow snaps back into his chest and he stumbles. Shawn's fingers wrap around the gun but with a surprising surge of energy, Tom Cruise grabs at him by the belt loops of his jeans and slams him down onto the hood of the SUV.

Desperately, Shawn attempts to conceal the second gun but he is disoriented from hitting the car and his movements are too slow and feeble.

Tom Cruise attempts to wrestle the gun away from him, furious fingers snapping Shawn's grip away. At the last possible moment, Shawn pushes the gun into Tom's face. The older man lets out a strangled yelp as he moves backward, clutching at his nose.

Shawn points the gun at him but Tom looks him in the eyes and laughs. "You won't," he says before grabbing at Shawn's pant leg and yanking him down off the SUV's hood.

Shawn pushes his hands against the pavement, exerting himself to shake off Tom Cruise's grip.

Tom Cruise's grip is tight, possessing a surge of strength from God knows where. He latches two hands onto Shawn's jacket and throws him on his back. He quickly straddles the younger man, one knee pushes against Shawn's forearm. His left arm presses roughly against Shawn's neck while his right hand grabs the gun from Shawn's hand.

Shawn attempts to somehow channel his ability of strength but it had only ever happened in sporadic bursts, never all at once or when he urged it to come forth. He gasps for air as Tom Cruise aims the gun at Shawn's forehead.

"How does it feel, Mr. Spencer?" Tom asks, panting, holding his grip tighter as Shawn fights to escape his grasp. "How does it feel to be completely helpless? When not even dear 'ol daddy can save you?"

Shawn closes his eyes, fearing the worst but his entire body freezes as he hears a low, determined voice demand, "Wanna bet?"

Henry Spencer, slightly stooped over, is standing outside of the van. His eyes are dark as he keeps a firm grip on his gun. Shawn opens his eyes to look at his father, who looks worse for wear with the cut above his eyebrow dripping fresh, ruby-hued blood.

Henry shoots his gun.

The bullet goes directly into the side of Tom Cruise's head. He collapses forwards, his lifeless body covering Shawn's. Shawn lets out a cry of surprise and he quickly pushes himself out from under Tom's body. He gags at the pooling blood and his father runs over, pulling him up by the arm and pushing him into his chest with something that almost sounds like a relieved sob.

"Oh, Shawn," Henry mutters into his hair, hands grasping his back firmly. "Thank God, thank God."

Shawn stands in awe of his father who has just killed a man to save his life. The Spencer's were fiercely loyal and as protective as they came but he had never imagined his father would do this. He had been in captivity in that building for months, imagining his father leading a life without him, when all this time he had been waiting to strike and bring him home.

"Chief Vick is going to be so pissed," Shawn mumbles into his father's shirt, unable to say, _thank you_ without feeling like his throat will close.

Henry chuckles. "I'm just glad you're okay," he says honestly, pulling away to look Shawn in the eyes. Both men share a general understanding what the other is thinking. Shawn ducks his head in faux-embarrassment, as if Henry had said the three little words aloud.

"Shawn?" Peter is suddenly running up to them, medical kit in hand. "Let me look at you."

"I'm fine," Shawn waves him off but sighs reluctantly when Peter gives him a stern look.

Gus runs out, too, Ryan and Melissa behind him. "Your dad woke up almost right after you got out," he explains. "We wanted to give you time to hold your own but I guess he busted out at the right time."

"I'd say so," Ryan says, eyes darting over to Tom Cruise's body.

Suddenly, a whine of police sirens is heard in the air. No one has time to react, as the herd of police vehicles barrels in from around the corner. Henry looks on in confusion and Gus asks out of the side of his mouth, "Did you call?"

"Gus, I think they might have sounded the alarm when they heard the giant explosion," Shawn responds.

An NYPD police officer steps out of his car, gun at the ready. He looks over at Tom Cruise's body and then at the group of exhilarated and terrified men and women. "Is one of you Henry Spencer?"

Henry nods, confused.

"A Chief Vick from Santa Barbara sent us," a second officer says, also out of his vehicle. "She said we might find a mess like this."

Shawn laughs and then, sheepishly covers his mouth.

Moments later, they inform the police of what happened, the teleporter kid reenacting the fight between Tom Cruise and Shawn with vigor. The police are surprisingly calm, taking everyone's statements and referring some to the ambulance that had come with them. They listen to Henry recount what he had done to save his son's life. Shawn steps away from the group, walking to the vacant lot nearby, where Wyatt is standing, arms crossed.

"So a lot has happened," Wyatt says casually.

Shawn laughs ruefully. "I would say so."

Wyatt eyes him carefully. "Are you okay?"

Shawn evades the question. "It sucked without you."

Wyatt looks crestfallen. "I couldn't get to you. Some kind of security measure 'ol Tom put up to obstruct me."

Shawn nods. "Yeah, I figured."

Wyatt gestures to Henry and the others. "So they came to save the day, huh?"

Shawn watches as Melissa's hand trails up Gus's arm slowly and he rolls his eyes but smiles. "My father killed someone for me," he says, as if Wyatt hadn't seen.

"Your father loves you," Wyatt finally says.

Shawn's expression shifts his smile broadens. "Yeah, I think he really does." He looks at Wyatt. "What are you going to do now?"

Whistling, Wyatt looks up at the sky for a moment. "Hell if I know," he says. "I feel like I've done all that I…" his voice trails off and his voice catches in throat. "Shawn," he says lowly.

Shawn looks up to follow his gaze and sees a large mixture of white, somewhat like a cloud, hovering before them. It glistens around the edges, a yellow, hazy glow emitting from the center.

"Holy shit," Wyatt chokes. "Is that what I think it is?"

Shawn can't quite believe it either. Of all the spirits he has spoken with, none have made it this far

"I think that's your exit," he says softly, eyes locking with Wyatt's.

The other man rubs a hand over his mouth, eyes shining. "I can't believe it," he says to himself. He turns to Shawn. "What do I do?" he asks urgently.

Shawn laughs. "I think you walk into it."

Wyatt steps forward and then spins back around. "I don't know what to say," he confesses, his voice sounding mixed with exaltation and disbelief.

"It's been fun," he finally says. He and Shawn stare at one another for a moment before Wyatt wraps his arms around him, embracing the psychic. "Thank you," he says.

Shawn nods, smiling at the spirit. "See you around," he says, as Wyatt steps further into the light.

Wyatt turns around and smirks at the psychic. "Yeah, not anytime soon I hope," he replies with a laugh. He takes one last look at his friend before he disappears and there is a flash of bright, bright light. Shawn shields his eyes and removes his arm to see that his friend has gone.

"So long, buddy," he says quietly.

Henry watches on in amusement as his son seemingly talks to no one. He wonders what is going through Shawn's mind and what surrounds him that no one else can see. When Shawn's eyes divert down to the ground, Henry walks over and puts a reassuring hand on his shoulder.

Shawn looks up at him, eyes glistening. Henry doesn't ask. Instead, he says, "So, they've cleared us. We can go home."

Shawn's expression is hopeful. "What about the others?" he asks.

"They are free to go, too," Henry says. "Most of them are from other states so the police are going to work with them to bring them home safely and keep a short-term surveillance on them."

Shawn nods. "That's good."

Henry looks closely at his son. "What about you?"

"Hm?" Shawn looks up.

"Are you ready? To go home?" Henry presses.

Shawn looks around, first at the crushed van, Tom's crushed SUV and then the group of people with supernatural abilities that he has been acquainted with for months. It hasn't been particularly long but it almost feels like a life time. Despite it all, something in him is tugging towards California, towards home.

"Yeah," he finally says. "I'm ready."

* * *

Shawn has a few long goodbyes with his friends. He instructs Ryan to be careful in Wyoming and bops the teleporter kid on the head before he is escorted by the police to the airport, where his parents are waiting anxiously. Melissa gives Shawn a long hug. A few others don't say much and Shawn understands why.

Peter looks over Shawn even after the paramedics have given him a thorough examination. They determine that Shawn will have a difficult time weaning himself off of the cocktail of drugs that Tom Cruise had given him nearly every day. However, they admit that, with time, Shawn should be able to return to a state of normalcy.

The NYPD takes their statements and confirms with Chief Vick that everyone is safe and accounted for. Shawn is anxious throughout, holding onto his father's forearm all the while and Henry doesn't say a word, smiling as he periodically places a hand on the top of Shawn's head, his arm or his back. The two Spencer's don't want to detach from one another and Gus watches from afar, noting this silently with a smile.

Eventually, Shawn, Gus, Henry and Peter are cleared to go home.

So they do.

* * *

Shawn, Gus, Henry and Peter don't catch a flight until early the next morning so they do not arrive in Santa Barbara until late afternoon. Gus wants to go home and "wash the blood of the bad guys off" himself and Peter needs to go in to work to tend to an emergency appointment with a patient. It is just Henry and Shawn in the taxi home.

Shawn leans over and tells the taxi driver the address of the SBPD.

"What are you doing?" Henry asks, concerned.

Shawn just smiles. "I want to see Lassie and Jules," he says, like it should be obvious. Really, he wants to step into that familiar atmosphere. He has missed the cacophony of ringing phones, fax machines, brewing coffee and shouted declarations from detectives and police officers alike. He hopes that Jules has kept knitting that pineapple-patterned hat for him and that maybe Lassiter missed him, at least a little.

Eventually, they pull up to the police station and Shawn pulls himself out of the taxi, running ahead of his father who hastily throws a wad of bills at the driver.

"Shawn," Henry calls exasperatedly, attempting to keep up with his son. They have only been back home for a few hours and already Shawn is back to chasing after the excitement.

Shawn steps through the doors of the police station and inhales the stale coffee and leather shoe polish smell. "Ahh," he says dramatically, winking at the officer at the front desk who nearly chokes when she sees the man that has purportedly been dead for months.

Shawn saunters past various officers, shaking hands and hugging others, winking at Buzz. His father follows close behind, watching as various members look on at Shawn look on in admiration.

Finally, Shawn makes it to his destination: in front of Chief Vick's office. The door is open and Lassiter and Juliet are standing in front of a corkboard littered with photos. Shawn has learned to walk with a quiet foot so as not to be caught, so they don't notice his presence.

"She went missing at six in the evening last Tuesday," Chief Vick says of the auburn-haired woman's photo. "Her mother blames it on the boyfriend but of course we can't quite confirm that as of yet."

Lassiter nods and opens his mouth to say something but Shawn says from the doorway, "She ran away."

"Shawn?" Juliet gapes in astonishment at the psychic. He is thinner but stronger, weary but determined. His eyes betray a sudden sadness but he looks for all the world like he is the happiest man in the SBPD.

"That woman, right there," Shawn gestures to the photo. "She took the car and all of her mom's cash because she and her boyfriend wanted to run away to Las Vegas." He snorts. "Anyway, it won't work out. The boyfriend will suddenly want to 'find himself' in Brazil so 'ol Tracy here will have to go running back home and blame the theft of the car _and_ the money on the boyfriend, who will conveniently not be around to confirm or deny that accusation."

Even Chief Vick looks surprised.

"She will also smell like cheese, the next time you see her," Shawn continues, nose wrinkling in disgust. "Swiss? Pepper jack? No, provolone. Ugh, who even eats that?"

Henry stands behind and rolls his eyes, smiling.

Chief Vick, Juliet and Lassiter all stare at the psychic with wide eyes and open mouths. Before, Shawn had lied, certainly. He had been known to waltz around the office, grabbing onto his head and slamming into furniture, shouting declarations about 'spirits' and 'divining' but it had never been real. He had always had a cavalier attitude about it but it hadn't affected him in the slightest. Now, however, he gives the summary of their future case with a rational, even voice. His stance is serious and his words calculated but his eyes still shine with the exuberance they held before.

Shawn notices everyone staring at him and he can't lie; he has missed this.

"What?" he asks, smiling.

 _THE END_


End file.
